


Tony Stark Bingo 2018

by 27dragons



Category: Avengers Academy (Video Game), Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Leverage, Alternate Universe - Multiverse, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Noir, Alternate Universe - Paranormal, Anal Sex, Dom/sub Undertones, M/M, Masturbation, Pre-Slash, Sex, Sharing Clothes, Sharing a Body, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Spanking, oblivious idiots in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-30
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-05-16 05:39:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 45,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14805401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/27dragons/pseuds/27dragons
Summary: 27dragons' fills for the 2018 Tony Stark Bingo!





	1. Five Times Tony Wore Bucky’s Clothes, and One Time He Didn’t

**Author's Note:**

> Unless otherwise specified, each chapter is its own standalone story, unrelated to the others. Tags will be updated as chapters are added.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Square Filled: S1 - Sharing Clothes  
> Rating: T  
> Warnings: None  
> Summary: Five times Tony wore Bucky's clothes, and one time he didn't.

1.

Tony looked at the proffered jacket with distrust. “Is this because I’m old?”

Bucky rolled his eyes and shook the jacket a little. “No. It’s because it’s almost freezing out here, and it’s going to be more than an hour before we can be extracted.”

“Look, Twiki, I know I’m a baseline human, but that doesn’t mean I’m _weak_ , okay, I can stand a little cold.”

“I know you can, Stark. I’m just tryin’ to be polite.” Bucky held out the jacket again. “Take the damn coat. And did you call me a twink?”

“What? No!” Tony snatched the jacket from Bucky’s hand and started pulling it on. “Just for that, I’m taking the jacket and _you_ can be the one to half-freeze out here. God, pop culture references are lost on you, utterly--”

“Because between the two of us, if one of us is a twink, I’d think it’s you.”

“Ex _cuse_ me? I’m too well-built to be a twink!”

“Skinnier than me,” Bucky said, all faux innocence.

“I am _not_ skinny! You want skinny, look at Parker!”

“He ain’t here right now,” Bucky pointed out. “I did say, of the two of us. But you’re probably right. You’re too old to be a twink.”

Tony squawked in outrage while Bucky laughed.

It was a nice-sounding laugh.

Tony eyed Bucky suspiciously. “How do you even know what a twink is?”

Bucky smiled beatifically. “I’ve learned all the _important_ stuff.”

2.

It wasn’t _necessary_ to have two snipers on the team, but it definitely had its benefits. For example, it meant that when Iron Man got hit with some kind of specialized EMP that not only killed the power to the suit but made it fall to pieces around him, Bucky could leave the sniper’s business to Clint for a few minutes and charge into the battlefield himself.

“Stark!” Bucky pulled up next to Tony.

“I’m not taking a knee,” Tony growled. “I’m the only one with the knowhow to disable that bomb. And you can tell Cap I said it.”

“I know,” Bucky said. He slapped at the seals on his tactical vest, pulling them free.

“What are you doing?”

“You said it yourself,” Bucky said. “You have to go in there. That means you need all the protection you can get.” He yanked off the vest and held it out to Tony. “Go on,” he said. “There’s live fire in there, you need protection!”

Tony stared at him for a moment, then shrugged the vest on. He scooped up his helmet and put it on to protect his head. “Cover me?”

Bucky grinned and touched his commlink. “Cap, Stark and I are goin’ in to take on that bomb; you wanna pull some of the heat off us?” He waved his gun toward the thick of the battle. “After you, dollface.”

3.

Tony was used to being pursued, and skilled at the diplomatic letdown. That didn’t mean he always _used_ his diplomatic skills. Sometimes, the situation just called for something a little more blunt. Like, say, “Frankly, I’d sooner dip my dick in bilgesnipe drool.”

Of course, that resulted in not only having a glass of red wine tossed in his face, but the offended lady had grabbed an entire tray of hors d'oeuvres from a passing waiter and smashed that into his chest. Tony looked down. Beet and orange salad on croutons. Of course. Because his shirt and vest weren’t stained enough already.

She stalked off, nose high in the air. Good riddance.

Before she’d even cleared the dance floor, an arm hooked through Tony’s and started tugging him toward the restrooms.

“I don’t think a napkin and some club soda is going to do it this time, Pe-- You’re not Pepper.”

“Figured that out all by yourself, didja?” Bucky said. He pushed Tony ahead of him into the men’s room. “Go on, get that mess off.” He shucked his jacket and hung it on a hook, then started unbuttoning his own shirt.

“I’m sorry, what... what are we doing now?” Tony unbuttoned his waistcoat and slipped it off, then went to work on his shirt.

“We’re going to clean you up as best we can and send you back out there in my shirt,” Bucky said. He eyed Tony’s throat, narrow-eyed. “And my tie, too.”

“And you, having no shirt or tie, will...?”

“Retire early,” Bucky said. “No one’s here to see me. You can’t afford to miss the rest of the night, though.”

“You’d be surprised what I can afford, Chippendale,” Tony said.

“Not this,” Bucky shot back, fighting with his cuffs. “Not if you’re still planning to get Senator Terrence on board with the initiative.” He hesitated. “That wasn’t Mrs. Terrence, was it?”

“No, it was Sunset Bain, who I dated once for six months, until she got me drunk and stole my company secrets. She made a fortune. I made the front page of half a dozen tabloids.” Bucky was still trying to get his cufflinks undone. “Here, let me.” He took Bucky’s wrist and turned it.

“Well, I expect she deserved whatever it was you said t’ make her so mad, then,” Bucky said. Cufflinks finally vanquished, Bucky shed his shirt and offered it to Tony.

It was too big for him, but that was a lesser sin than the horrific stains on his actual shirt. Tony slipped it on and started doing up the buttons. Bucky took a wet paper towel and crouched in front of Tony, dabbing at the front of his pants. “This is barely visible,” he reported, “even from up close.”

Tony didn’t want to think about how close Bucky was. He focused on the cufflinks and button covers. “Appreciate the assist,” he said.

Bucky looked up, and _Jesus_ if someone walked in right now they’d think he’d just blown Tony, the way he was positioned, with his lip all red and swollen from biting on it, his pupils halfway blown.

Tony was transfixed for one long moment, and then he shook it off and started stuffing the too-long shirt into his slacks.

4.

“...and let your _true nature_ be revealed!” screeched the amateur sorcerer, pointing what looked like a dimestore Harry Potter replica wand at Tony.

Bucky charged, as did Natasha and Steve. Clint released an arrow that knocked the stupid wand right out of her hand, an instant before Bucky tackled her to the ground.

She barely resisted as Natasha cuffed her. Mostly, she just stared over Bucky’s shoulder in increasing dismay. “What happened?” she wailed. “The spell was supposed to turn you into a _monster,_ the _true monster_ that you really are!”

“Guess he’s not that bad a guy after all,” Bucky suggested. He didn’t look at Natasha, because Natasha was almost certainly raising her eyebrows at him. That’s what he got for letting her find out about his crush.

“Or,” said Stephen Strange, who had been irritatingly little help, considering they had been dealing with a whole coven of magic using b-- witches who apparently had Tony at the very top of their shitlist. “Or,” Strange repeated, the supercilious bastard, “she learned the spell wrong, and used the rune that meant a _physical_ rather than an _inner_ revelation.”

It took Bucky a couple of seconds to work through that, and then he spun around, his eyes trying to bulge out of his head.

Tony was standing where Bucky had last seen him, apparently unharmed... and utterly naked.

Jesus wept, the man was beautiful.

Like a moth drawn to a flame, Bucky climbed to his feet and made his way back over to Tony. “You, uh. You okay?”

“Bit chilly, for some reason,” Tony said cheerfully. “But otherwise fine.”

Bucky unzipped his jacket and offered it. He was pretty sure his whole face was redder and hotter than burning coals, but he somehow -- _somehow_ \-- managed to keep his eyes on Tony’s face. Mostly.

“You sure you want me to cover this up?” Tony asked as he took the jacket.

“Hell no,” Bucky admitted. “But if you’re gonna show me what you’ve got, I’d rather it be your choice.”

Tony tied the jacket around his waist, letting the sleeves dangle down in front. “I feel like we should come back to this conversation later,” he said. “Maybe over dinner?”

5.

Tony woke slowly. He stretched, feeling the ache in his muscles (and other places) that were indicative of a particularly good night. Grinning, he snatched the shirt up off the floor and stepped into his jeans. He didn’t bother to button the shirt. Let those tender lovebites on his chest breathe.

Okay, so he was showing off, just a little. Couldn’t blame him; he’d bagged the _Winter Soldier_.

He made his way out to the kitchen, where someone was bound to have started coffee by now.

Natasha was there, cutting up fruit for her smoothie. She looked him over slowly. Tony spread his hands -- he was more than comfortable with his body, thanks very much -- and let her look her fill. When she was done, she smiled a secretive little smile and turned back to her mango. “Nicely done,” she complimented him.

“I thought so,” he agreed.

“Is that Bucky’s shirt?” she asked.

Tony looked down. Now that he was a little more awake, he could see that the shirt was too long for him, the sleeves nearly covering his hands, the shirttails long enough that he might as well not have bothered putting on the jeans. “It looks that way,” he said.

She smiled that little smile again. “He and Steve will be back from their morning run soon.”

Tony checked the clock. “So they will.”

Natasha dropped the last of her mango into the blender. “Have fun with that.”

“What?” Tony said, but the blender was too loud for her to hear him.

+1

The instant Tony finished breakfast, Bucky was there, crowding him, herding him back toward the bedroom.

“Did you do that on purpose?” he demanded. He pushed Tony against the wall and buried his face in Tony’s neck, breathing in Tony’s scent. He nipped at Tony’s shoulder, a sharp little nip that left a mark that would take hours to fade. “It was on purpose, wasn’t it?”

Tony’s arms wrapped around his neck. “Do what on purpose?” he asked, but he was laughing, the brat.

God, Bucky loved that.

“My shirt,” Bucky growled. “You walking around in front of everyone in _my shirt_.”

“Mm, maybe,” Tony allowed. He pushed Bucky’s head further down. Bucky went where he wanted happily enough, nuzzling under the collar of the shirt. “It’s a thing, huh? Seeing me in your clothes?”

“Only one thing better,” Bucky admitted.

“What’s that?”

Bucky pushed the shirt off Tony’s shoulders and let it drop to the floor. “Seeing you in nothing at all.”

 


	2. My Better Half

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Square Filled: T1 - Bodysharing  
> Rating: M  
> Warnings: None  
> Summary: Steve made an ill-timed wish, and now Bucky is stuck in the right half of Tony’s body. It’s like a Get Along shirt, but _more_.

“No,” Tony said firmly. “No, this is not happening. Fix it.”

“I don’t even know what I did!” Steve protested. He looked up from where he was kneeling beside Bucky’s body on the floor, who was to all appearances unconscious. “What’s wrong with him? What happened?”

It was Steve, first into the defeated villain’s lair, who had picked up the stone tablet from where it had been displayed in a pillar of light. Wanda had called out a warning, but too late -- the tablet had exploded in a burst of light, Bucky had slumped to the floor, and Tony had found himself with an uninvited guest.

Wanda gestured, and the fragments of the tablet floated up, hovering so she could examine the runes on them. “This is a wishing spell,” she said after a moment’s study. “You must have been wishing for something strongly, as you touched it, to have caused such a reaction.”

Steve looked up at her. “I wasn’t thinking of anything, really. I was pretty focused on finding that grimoire so we can get it back into Strange’s safekeeping. I thought that might be it, and picked it up, and then these two started in again--” He gestured to Bucky and then Tony. “And I... Oh, hell. I wished... I wished they’d learn to get along.”

“Well, this is just bullshit,” Bucky said from the right side of Tony’s mouth. “I want out of here.”

“For a wonder, I agree,” Tony said, and it felt weird, only using the left side of his face. Like he’d been to the dentist for a root canal and half his face was still numbed. “I want you out of my body, too.”

“It’s like a ‘Get Along Shirt’ but _more_ ,” Clint cackled.

Tony and Bucky both flicked Clint off, at nearly the same time, both of Tony’s arms lifting not quite in sync. Bucky went for a straight-up finger, while Tony made a demonstrative curl of his wrist first.

“That is so _weird_ to watch,” Sam said.

“Focus, please. Clint, Sam, Natasha: stick to the original mission, see if you can find that grimoire. Wanda, can you undo this?”

“I don’t think so,” Wanda said. “Not right now, not without studying it for some time. But the spell should break on its own once your wish is fulfilled.”

“Yeah, that’s not happening,” Tony said. “My body is _not_ a Get-Along Shirt!” He tried to stalk angrily away, but Bucky still controlled the right half of his body, so he got one good step and then staggered when his right leg didn’t do its part. Tony would have fallen except Bucky’s balance was apparently preternatural even in someone else’s body.

“We’re leaving now, is that okay?” Tony snapped.

“Okay, okay,” Bucky said. He took a step, and then Tony did, and then they were walking, though it was a slow, uncertain stagger of a walk.

“So, uh, where we goin’?” Bucky asked when they’d left the room.

“Back to the ‘jet,” Tony said. “I want to contact Strange, see if he knows anything that can get us out of this mess.”

“Fair enough,” Bucky conceded. “Wait, hang on, something’s wrong.”

“What?” Tony stopped, looked down at himself, where he was (Bucky was) patting at his chest. “What did you do to me?”

“Pain in my chest,” Bucky reported. “Did we get hit with some kind of gas? Or--”

Tony sighed. “Slow your jets. Feels tight, like you can’t get enough air in the lung?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, that’s just me,” said Tony.

“This is _not_ normal.”

“It is if you spent five years with an electromagnet where your sternum used to be and a cluster of shrapnel trying to tunnel its way into your heart,” Tony said. “The reconstruction team did a great job, but I’ve got a permanently reduced lung capacity. A little tightness through the chest is just how life is.”

“You _fight_ like this?” Bucky said. He sounded horrified.

“Don’t have a lot of choice,” Tony pointed out. “I’ve got some filters in the suit that keep the oxygen content a little on the high side so I don’t have to strain as much, but yeah. Don’t worry, I’m pretty sure we’re benched until you’re back in your own perfect body.”

“My body ain’t perfect.” Bucky had to put up a hand to keep them from slamming into the wall as they rounded a corner.

Tony rolled his eyes. Or one of them, anyway. “Whatever.”

***

By the time they made it back to the compound, they’d almost gotten the hang of walking, though Tony privately felt like they looked like a solid candidate for the Ministry of Silly Walks, with his left leg kicking out in his usual casual stride, and his right leg coming down with something like Bucky’s predatory strut.

But that was nothing compared to the comedy of errors that was them trying to change out of Tony’s undersuit and back into his regular clothes.

It started out about as well as it could. Tony had to grope a little to unfasten the suit seals with his left hand, but Bucky caught on pretty quickly and brought the right hand in to help. The undersuit was snug, but not complicated, so they managed to peel it off with only a little fumbling.

They peeled it down around his hips, and then Bucky let out a sound that was somewhere between a squeak and a whine. “You’re not wearing underwear!”

“Why the hell would I wear underwear under a suit this tight?” Tony demanded. “It’s basically underwear all on its own!”

Bucky only responded with a grunt, but getting the suit the rest of the way off was a little more difficult, because Bucky kept trying to turn their head away so he wouldn’t see Tony’s dick.

Tony rolled his eye again. “Relax, Barnes,” he sighed. “It’s standard equipment. I’d think you were in the Army long enough to not be so modest.”

Bucky shrugged Tony’s shoulder and looked away again. “You didn’t sign up for this,” he pointed out. “I’m tryin’a be polite.”

_That’s a first_ , Tony almost snarked, but he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and saw how hard Bucky was blushing.

How did a blush only affect half a body? That looked so weird. So did the strange lazy-eye effect of Tony’s left eye pointing at the mirror and his right eye determinedly rolling up away from his reflection.

“Look, just... Let’s just get this done, and I’ll be dressed again.”

Tony managed to finish peeling off the undersuit. Tony opened the laundry chute and Bucky stuffed the suit into it. Go, teamwork.

Then Tony picked up his clean underwear and they nearly fell into the wall. “What the hell?” Tony demanded.

“I’m trying to get us dressed!” Bucky said.

“Then why the hell did you do that?”

“What do you mean?” Bucky snapped. “All I did was try to put my foot in the damn underwear!”

“Seriously?” Tony asked. “Who the fuck puts their underwear on right-foot-first?”

“Uh, everyone?” Bucky wasn’t blushing anymore; he was staring into the mirror with half of an incredulous expression.

“Everyone _wrong_ ,” Tony said. “Left foot first means the dominant -- and more dextrous -- side can maneuver into the other leg hole easier.”

“Right foot first means the dominant leg is the one you’re balancing on,” Bucky shot back. “I should’ve known you’d make _getting dressed_ more complicated than it has to be.”

“Whatever,” Tony said. “It’s my body, so can we just, please, do this?”

“Fine,” Bucky sighed.

Tony put his leg into the underwear.

“Is it my turn now?” Bucky sniped.

“Asshole.”

“Look who’s talking.”

***

At least the post-mission routine was fairly relaxed. Dinner and a group movie, while they all recovered from their assorted injuries and energy-drains. It wasn’t either of their turns to pick the food or the movie, even. All they had to do was show up, flop on the couch, and eat. Which, since they were both right-handed, shouldn’t be too hard. Right?

So wrong.

“Why are you eating around the pepper?” Tony demanded. “Just eat it.”

“You can’t be serious. It’s in there for flavoring, it’s not supposed to be eaten.”

“Chili peppers are _delicious_ ,” Tony said. “Are you actually telling me that the _Winter Soldier_ can’t handle a simple hot pepper?”

“I can _handle_ it fine. I’m telling you that pain is not entertainment and I don’t know why anyone would do that to themselves on purpose,” Bucky said, stubbornly aiming the chopsticks at the carrot slices next to the pepper.

Tony moved the carton out of reach. “No. I’m not giving this back until you promise to eat the pepper.”

“Oh my god, both of you, _stop it_ ,” Natasha snapped. “I’m trying to watch the movie!”

Tony and Bucky both froze.

“I guess I can skip it this once,” Tony whispered.

“ _Thank_ you.”

***

Somehow, it hadn’t occurred to Tony that they were going to still be stuck in Tony’s body when it came time to go to bed. But the moment arrived far sooner than even usual, because without the fine coordination of both hands, Tony couldn’t stay up late working.

They made their way up to Tony’s room, agreeing without speaking that it would be weird to take Tony’s body to Bucky’s room. Tony found some seldom-used pyjamas to satisfy Bucky’s weird modesty, and even turned them away from the mirror as they changed.

And then they went into the bathroom. Tooth-brushing went more or less smoothly, though the divided control of Tony’s mouth made for some weird expressions. And then Tony turned toward the toilet.

Bucky made a helpless sound. “Do we gotta?”

“I’m not holding it all night,” Tony said. “Come on, get it out.”

Bucky whined again, but reached for Tony’s dick, groping around a little awkwardly. “You curve the other way,” he complained.

“Huh,” Tony said thoughtfully. “I wonder if that’s got anything to do with what leg you put on first. I could do a survey; I bet--”

“Can we just pee and save the science for later?”

“I like how you’re not trying to talk me out of the science,” Tony said.

“Buddy, I spent half my life with Steve Rogers. I know when it’s futile to try to talk someone out of something.”

Finally, that ordeal was done, and they made their way over to the bed.

“At least sleeping won’t be a problem,” Tony said. “This is exhausting.”

“Yeah,” Bucky agreed. They tipped over onto the bed, and then Bucky rolled, squashing Tony down into the bed.

“What the _fuck_ ,” Tony managed. His lungs -- _lung_ \-- felt like it had been folded in half. “Get off me, asshole!”

“I’m just tryin’ ta get comfortable!”

“Well get comfortable _off me_ ,” Tony wheezed.

“Fine, geez.” Bucky rolled back and Tony gasped for air.

“Christ,” Tony panted. “Remember that whole ‘compromised lungs’ issue? You can’t just squash them like that!”

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” Bucky said. “I have to sleep on my right side or the hardware anchoring my arm gets driven up into my spine.”

Tony paused, considering the x-rays he’d seen of the interior structure of Bucky’s arm. He tried to imagine it in various poses, and winced in sympathy. “Okay,” he said, “I can see that. But you don’t have that arm right now so we’re going to go with back sleeping for now, all right?”

“Yeah, sure,” Bucky said. “I’m sure that won’t cause me any trouble at all.”

***

Tony wasn’t exactly inexperienced. He’d woken up with other people in his bed before. He’d even woken up to a handjob before.

He’d never woken up to a handjob when he was the only one in the bed, but that seemed to be what was happening. The soft slide of a hand against his skin was sleepy and slow, like whoever it was hadn’t fully woken up yet. It felt a little odd but _good_ , exactly the right pressure, no urgency yet but a growing tension gathering in his balls. But there was no added warmth from another body under the covers with him. No extra dip in the mattress.

The memory of the previous day hit him like the jolt of an improperly shielded industrial wire.

Which meant the hand on his dick was his own, guided by Bucky.

Who was obviously still mostly asleep, thinking he was taking care of his own morning wood. Which, maybe, he was. Sort of. Except not.

How the hell was Tony supposed to deal with this? Wake Bucky up, to suffer embarrassment _and_ blue balls? For both of them, no less.

Let him continue? Would that be more embarrassing?

Shit, what if they climaxed separately? Was that even possible? It was one cock. But two balls. How would that even-- _God_ , Tony hated magic shit.

If he was going to do something, he was going to have to do it soon, before Bucky woke up any more and realized--

The hand flinched and was snatched away, his whole right side flailing briefly in an abortive attempt to get away. “Shit!” Bucky hissed out of the side of Tony’s mouth, quiet but fervent. “Shit, dammit, _fuck_.”

Okay, Tony could be the bigger man, here, right? A little embarrassment was inevitable, but he didn’t have to give it all up. Tony grunted sleepily. “Mm? S’matter?”

He could practically _feel_ Bucky trying to decide whether to take the out. “Uh,” Bucky said. “Musta been a dream, I guess.”

Good choice, Tony thought. That covered pretty much anything. “Mm,” he agreed. “Back to sleep?” Tony wanted it to go on record that he was being damned generous. If they went back to sleep, Tony’s morning wood would probably fade away, and then they could both just pretend this had never happened.

“Not sure I can,” Bucky said, damn him. “It’s about time for my run with Steve.”

“This body is not keeping up with any super-soldiers,” Tony pointed out. “Not to mention we’d draw a _lot_ of attention with the weird gait we’ve got going. Even if we could get organized enough to run.”

“No shit,” Bucky grumbled. “But I oughta go down and let Steve see we’re still in one piece.”

“Be happier if we were in two pieces again,” Tony sighed. “Okay, sitting up, we can do that...”

***

At least they could agree on what to eat for breakfast, though Tony had to remind Bucky that, lacking a super soldier’s metabolism, he probably didn’t need a third round of pancakes.

They puttered around in the gym for a while, trying to find a way to work out without tripping over each other. Lifting weights, they could do, as long as they did it one arm or leg at a time. They attempted a few sit ups, but it was crazy how much coordination that took. They got a pretty decent rhythm going for the punching bag, though, and it was almost fun.

Then they hit the showers.

“Look,” Tony said, “I don’t know what your problem is, but this would be a lot easier if you’d let yourself look at what you’re doing. I’ve been seen naked before, I can take it.”

“I just... You...” Bucky sighed and gave in, looking down to finish soaping up.

A twinge of heat made Tony’s eyes widen. _No, no, no, not now!_ This was _not_ the sort of morning where he could indulge in a lazy jerkoff in the shower. _No_. He thought about baseball, about alien slime, about Senator Stern...

That did the trick.

Bucky heaved a sigh that felt like relief, but didn’t say anything. Tony wondered if Bucky was blushing, but there weren’t any mirrors in the shower. Maybe it was for the best, because he was pretty sure _he_ was blushing.

After the shower, they wound up in front of the sink, a towel carefully tucked around their hips. Tony half-expected Bucky to balk at shaving -- Tony’s goatee wasn’t exactly beginner-level -- but Bucky picked up the razor without any trace of hesitation.

It took some concentration and a little coordination to get that done, but it was also oddly soothing, not-coincidentally like letting someone else do it, except for where Tony had to help tip his head or stretch the skin from time to time.

“Not bad,” Tony said. “You ever want to give up Avenging, you could go to work as a barber.”

Bucky shrugged. “Useta have to help Stevie shave, when the meds made his hands shake. Yours is a little trickier, but it’s all straight lines, so it’s not so bad. What’s next?”

“Unfortunately for you, I have some SI business to take care of,” Tony said. “A couple of meetings to sit in on, some paperwork to sign.”

“Uh. I’m gonna haffta forge your signature?”

“Luckily, no. SI’s gone fully digital; you’ll just have to put your finger on the reader.”

They made it, somehow, to the end of the day without giving away their bizarre situation to anyone other than Pepper, who took the explanation in stride, and then told Tony she still expected him to show up for his meetings.

“That woman scares me,” Bucky mumbled.

“Yeah, she’s the best,” Tony agreed.

***

_Raza lifted a glowing coal from the fire with the tongs, and two of his men pushed Yinsen down onto the anvil. A prickle of sweat and fear crawled down Tony’s spine. Raza was shouting in a language Tony did not understand, and Yinsen was frantically jabbering back, the word_ Jericho _echoing in the frigid cave._

“ _Stop it,” Tony tried to say, but his tongue didn’t belong to him. Raza was getting more and more angry._

_It was Bucky on the anvil, then, his eyes frightened and wild, and then he looked past Raza’s fiery coal and focused on Tony. Tony tried to reach for him, but Tony’s arm refused to move. Bucky looked resigned, then, and those steel-gray eyes closed--_

“No!” Tony flailed awake, throat aching from the force of the yell, and he still couldn’t move his arm, still couldn’t reach--

“Tony!” his mouth said. “Tony, _wake up!_ ” His arm moved then, not the way he wanted it to, but to slap lightly at his own face. “Wake up!”

Tony broke out of the rest of the nightmare’s shadowy hold, then, going limp on the bed and panting for breath.

“You okay now?” Bucky asked. Bucky’s hand pressed lightly against Tony’s chest, over his heart, feeling the way it raced. “You with me?”

“Think so,” Tony gasped. “Sorry. Sorry, I was just--”

“Hey, you’re not the only one with nightmares,” Bucky said. He kept his hand on Tony’s chest, the thumb stroking back and forth lightly. Grounding. “I was already awake.”

“They were going to kill you,” Tony said into the darkness. “And you... you thought I would _let_ them.”

Bucky grunted softly. “I was being cut in half.”

Tony huffed something that wasn’t anything like a laugh. “What a pair we are.”

“You think they’ll ever figure out how to fix us?”

Tony hummed. His adrenaline reaction was bleeding away with Bucky’s light touch, letting his heart slow and leaving him sleepy again. “Dunno,” he admitted. “But it could’ve been worse.”

Bucky reached up and pushed his fingers through the hair on Tony’s side of their head, almost like a caress. “Yeah, you could’ve gotten stuck with Stevie.”

“Or Wanda.”

They paused a moment, and both said at the same time: “Clint.”

***

Tony woke up slowly. Still muzzy-headed, he stretched, then sat up and scrubbed his hand over his face and hair. It hadn’t been the most restful night, he recalled vaguely, what with the nightmare, and then--

Wait.

Tony lifted his hands to look at them. _Both_ of them. He turned them over. Pinched the right one and flinched at the pain of it.

“Bucky?”

No answer.

Tony threw the bedcovers aside and swung out of the bed, already reaching for his robe.

When he got to the kitchen, he all but collapsed against the wall in relief: Bucky was there, cutting up fruit at the counter. “You’re okay,” he gasped.

Bucky looked up with a grin. “I woke up down in medical,” he said. “They’re probably gonna be pissed when they realized I snuck out.”

“Probably,” Tony said. Something warm spread through his chest as he watched Bucky dump the fruit into the blender. “Then they’re going to want to run all the tests on us.”

“Yep,” Bucky agreed with equanimity. “Best if we get a decent breakfast before they catch up with us. You want a smoothie?” He flashed Tony a grin. “I’ll put a hot pepper in it for you.”


	3. The Throng

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Square Filled: A1 - [image: multiple armors hovering]  
> Rating: G  
> Warnings: None  
> Summary: Four Avengers ought to be plenty to take down one villain, right?

“What the hell kind of villain name is Throng?” Tony complained. “It sounds way too close to Thong.”

“Are we sure it’s not Thong?” Natasha wondered. “Maybe the reports got it wrong.”

“If it was Thong, you’d think he’d be dressed more suggestively,” Tony pointed out.

“I haven’t seen his underwear yet; I’m reserving judgement. Maybe he’s got a magic thong that’s the source of his power.”

“Guys,” Steve tried.

“A guy gets his hands on a magic thong, and the first thing he thinks to do with it is turn to a life of crime?” Clint put in.

“Have you ever worn a thong?” Natasha challenged. “They’re pretty infuriating.”

“ _Guys_ ,” Steve said again. “Come on, a little less chatter. The guy’s name is _Throng_ , not Thong.”

“Who gets the point for making Cap say _thong_ on open comms?” Tony asked.

“Me,” Natasha said, smugness radiating.

“We’re almost to the drop point,” Steve sighed. “Can you just, please...”

“Professional and intimidating, aye-aye, Cap,” said Tony. “Unless it turns out SHIELD was wrong and his name really is The Thong. In which case, no promises.”

Steve watched as Tony dropped Clint on a convenient outbuilding and did a lap of the building that SHIELD had assured them contained their target. “I’ve got the eastern side of the building,” he reported.

“I’m covering the south,” Clint said.

Steve and Natasha positioned themselves on the northwest corner where they could watch both sides. The area was too tightly populated to involve the Hulk for anything less than a global disaster, and Thor was offworld at the moment, so it was just the four of them.

Personally, Steve thought even that was overkill for one guy, even if he was enhanced. A two-man team ought to be enough. But with the four of them, it should be a quick and easy takedown, and they’d be back at the Tower in time for dinner.

“Okay, Tony, call for surrender,” Steve said.

“You really think he’s going to go for that?” Tony wondered.

“I think we need to offer it whether or not he’ll take it,” Steve said. “Just do it, Tony.”

“Fine, fine... JARVIS, give me a loudspeaker and get a lock on all the exits we can see.” Tony gave it a couple of seconds and then said, “Attention! We have the building surrounded. Surrender peacefully, and no one has to get hurt. Come out with your hands up.”

There was silence for a long moment, and then from the building, someone yelled, “All of them?”

Steve exchanged a glance with Natasha. All of _what?_

He didn’t have time to puzzle it out, though, because the west door was opening and a man was stepping out, his hands held high. “Eyes on the target,” Steve reported. “West side.”

“How can you have eyes on the target?” Clint demanded. “ _I’ve_ got eyes on the target!”

“I’ve got a guy coming out on the east, too,” Tony said.

“Two coming out the north door,” Steve said tersely, “and one on the west. Looks like our intel was wrong -- Throng is a team, not a single guy.”

“Well, at least they’re coming out peacefully,” Tony said.

“Aw, hell, Tony,” Clint complained. “You jinxed it.” The guy in front of Steve looked at him and smiled, waved a little with one of the hands that was up in the air, and then -- suddenly, with no transition at all that Steve could detect -- turned into two guys.

And then four.

Clint cursed and Tony’s breath caught, which made Steve think that it was happening on their sides of the building, as well. “Illusions?” Tony hoped.

“Guess we’ll find out,” Steve said. “Nat, you go left.”

Steve’s targets dropped their hands to pull weapons from the tac suits they were wearing, and the fight was on.

Steve winged one of them with his shield, but even as the guy fell, another appeared. Steve went for a more complicated ricochet. Three of them fell, and the fourth staggered. Another one appeared, unharmed. And then two more.

“Crunch all you want!” Throng yelled gleefully. “I’ll make more!”

“They’re not illusions,” Clint said. “All of mine are solid. And they know better than to cluster together.”

“Well,” Natasha said, “at least we know why he’s called Throng, now. He’s copying himself somehow.”

It was getting to be difficult to keep them all at bay; Steve grunted as one of them got a shot through and grazed his arm. “I don’t think the four of us is going to be enough.” He shield-punched two of them at once. Spun around to stop them from coming in behind him.

There were too many. Throng was multiplying faster than Steve could knock him out. He retreated a little, and found Natasha, who had slowly been pushed back as well. Back-to-back, Throng couldn’t get close enough to hurt them, but they couldn’t break through, either.

“Anyone have any bright ideas?” Clint said. “I’m running low on ammo, here.”

A roar and a whine overhead made Steve look up. That... That wasn’t the armor Tony had been wearing before. “Tony?”

“I’m on it, Cap,” Tony said. “Hold the line.”

Another repulsor whine. And another. An entire fleet of Iron Man armors was entering the fray. Two of them swooped down to cut a path through the Throng in front of Steve.

“Thanks, Tony,” Steve said. “That’s a big help, but he’s still going to overwhelm us with numbers pretty soon.”

“There’s an upper limit to the number of guys he can create, and how long he can hold them,” Tony said. “Or else he’d have already had the building completely full when we got here. All we have to do is hold him off for a while. Clint -- let my guys relieve you. I need you to get inside, as sneaky as you can, and find the master copy. He’ll probably be guarded, but that’s okay, just wait. As soon as the duplicates disappear, shoot him with your tranq.”

“Yep, got it,” Clint said.

“You sure about this plan, Tony?” Steve asked.

“Nope!” Tony said cheerfully. “But I don’t have anything better. You?”

“No,” Steve agreed. “Let’s do it.” He gritted his teeth and threw himself back into the fray.

It played out almost exactly like Tony had said. There were dozens, _hundreds_ of Throng’s duplicates, so many that even with the help of several dozen of Tony’s unmanned suits, Steve thought they were going to be dragged under. Then he noticed that new duplicates were appearing slower and slower, the cleared area around him and Natasha wider and wider.

And then he realized that some of the fallen duplicates were winking back out of existence, the same way they’d appeared.

All at once, they were gone. All of them. Steve nearly fell over when his fist failed to collide with a target that simply wasn’t there any more.

“Clint!” Tony said urgently.

“I got ‘im,” Clint promised. There was the soft creak and then the _twang_ of a bowstring over the comms, and then, “He’s out,” Clint said. “Come and do something with him.”

“Just keep him knocked out for now,” Tony said. “Coulson’s on his way with a containment field that the science team at SHIELD knocked together while we were having our playdate.”

As one, the unmanned Iron Man armors took to the sky. Hovering, they faced Steve for a moment, saluted in unison, and then took off back to wherever they’d come from.

“Maybe it’s just me,” Tony said, “but I don’t want to see a mirror for at least three days.”

“Or a thong,” Clint added.

 


	4. Animal Attraction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Square Filled: R1 - animal  
> Rating: G  
> Warnings: None  
> Summary: If anyone had asked Bucky what kind of animal he thought best represented Tony, he could’ve given a dozen different answers. It would never have occurred to him to have suggested this.

If anyone had asked Bucky what kind of animal he thought best represented Tony, he could’ve given a dozen different answers: a kitten, curious and sweet. A fox, fast and cunning. A raven, intelligent and playful. A wolf, loyal and fierce. A peacock, vain and proud. A dragon, wealthy and ruthless.

It would never have occurred to him, not _ever_ , to have suggested _this_.

“We’re gonna get you back, baby,” Bucky promised, stroking the fur on his boyfriend’s side. “They’ve got that guy in custody and are interrogating him now. We’ll make him tell us how to give you back your real body.”

The team had surprised a would-be warlock in the midst of a rather gruesome ritual, and in the resulting fray, Tony had been turned into a bunny. A largish one, white with black splotches. One of those splotches, under his chin, resembled his goatee. He seemed to know who he was and what had happened, but communication was still a bit iffy.

Tony turned his head and tucked it under Bucky’s hand, demanding more pets. Bucky was happy to oblige; Tony’s fur was so _soft_.

Tony would absolutely bite if Bucky said that aloud, though, so he stuck to petting gently and scratching around those ridiculous ears. “If worst comes to worst,” Bucky said, “we’ll call Strange.”

Tony tipped his head to look at Bucky. It was probably a glare, though it was hard to tell. “I know he ain’t your favorite guy in the world, but if he can fix this mess, I’ll kiss him right on the mouth.”

Tony bit him, not quite hard enough to draw blood. “Ow!” That was _definitely_ a glare. “You know I wouldn’t really, darlin’.”

Tony hopped around until his back was to Bucky. Bucky couldn’t help a little laugh; it was just so fucking _cute_.

“Aw, babydoll, you know you’re the only one for me,” he coaxed. He reached out and petted Tony’s fur again, ready to snatch his hand back if it looked like Tony was going to try to bite him again.

But Tony allowed it, then let out a sigh and flopped over onto his side.

“I know, sweetheart,” Bucky said. “It’s gotta suck, so much.” He kept petting Tony, and hoped the others would get back soon with the instructions for how to put Tony back in the right body. Bunny-Tony was fuckin’ adorable, but Bucky kind of missed his actual boyfriend. “We’ll get this fixed as soon as we can.”

Bucky wondered if Tony would bite him if he tried to use “bunny” as an endearment. Probably. That didn’t mean Bucky wasn’t going to try it anyway. No, wait: _honey-bunny_. Yes. That would make the bite worth it. Though he might need to wait until Tony had been restored to the right body for a while first, before pulling that out. A bite or two, he could stand, but he didn’t want to risk being exiled to the couch.

After all, Bucky _could_ think of at least one way that being a rabbit suited Tony well: Tony had the cutest damned butt that Bucky had ever seen.

 


	5. Building Occupied

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Square Filled: K1 - Steve Rogers  
> Rating: T  
> Warnings: None  
> Summary: Everywhere Tony tries to go, it seems Steve Rogers has beaten him there. What exactly is Steve playing at?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set in the Avengers Academy game 'verse!

Tony tossed his water bottle into the air, spun around, and caught it as he came full circle, then pointed and winked at the gaggle of girls hanging out across the lawn from the gym. A couple of them giggled, but none of them waved.

That was okay, Tony was _totally_ here to work out, not show off or flirt. He pushed through the doors to the gym, ready to teach the treadmill a thing or two about keeping up with superpowered heroes, and... stumbled to a stop.

Steve Rogers was already on the treadmill, running flat out. He lifted a hand to wave. “Hey, Tony!”

He didn’t even sound winded, the bastard.

“Hey,” Tony said back. “I, uh... guess I’ll come back later.”

“I’m almost done,” Steve said. “Just a few more miles. Shouldn’t take me more than five minutes.”

Because of course Steve could run that fast. Tony was pretty proud of his stamina (... _hehe_ ) but Steve made them all look bad. Just part of that Captain America charm.

“Nah, it’s okay,” Tony said. “See ya.”

***

Tony was a genius, maybe not _the_ smartest person on campus, but definitely in the top five (and ranked higher than Professor Pym, which was, honestly, all that really mattered). But being smart and doing something with it were totally different things, and he wasn’t going to stay at the forefront of the global technology curve if he didn’t put in a little time at the library each week, reading up on the lastest engineering advances.

But when he got to the library for his usual quick perusal of the latest trade journals, he found the study carrel already occupied.

By Steve Rogers.

“Hi, Tony!” Steve said, just barely louder than a whisper, because he was that kind of upstanding citizen. “I’m just doing some catching up on all the stuff that happened while I was in the ice. You want to pull up a chair?”

Steve catching up on the history of the last seventy years was probably a little more important than Tony catching up on the science of the last two weeks.

So Tony shook his head. “No, I’ll just... read extra fast next week,” he said.

Steve looked a little disappointed at that. Maybe he’d been hoping to crib Tony’s notes, if Tony was here to study for history class.

***

Tony could always fabricate a new shoulder plate at the Tower, but there was something viscerally satisfying about working at the forge. And the Asgardian forge seemed to harden Tony’s armor more, let it withstand more than what the science said it should. He hadn’t done any real testing on it -- it was on the list, but pretty far down there, somewhere after adding a few new levels to the training arcade games -- but whatever, it seemed to work.

So he packed up the damaged plate and wandered across campus to the forge.

Where Steve Goddamned Rogers was working on his fucking shield.

“Tony, hi,” Steve said, wiping the sweat from his face with his forearm, which should _not_ be that sexy, it really should not. “Just working out a few dents in the ol’ girl, here. Shouldn’t take long. You don’t mind, do you?”

And the thing was, Steve _had_ to use the forge to work on his shield, because it was hardened vibranium, and normal metalworking tools just didn’t work on it. So Tony couldn’t very well begrudge him the use of it.

“No, it’s fine,” Tony said, suppressing a sigh. “I’m just... going to duck out for a bit.”

“Really, I’m almost done,” Steve promised, and there was something pleading in his tone.

“Great,” Tony said, not meaning it. “I’ll be back then.”

***

“He’s _always there_ ,” Tony groaned, leaning against Jan’s shoulder. “I can’t get anything done because everywhere I go, he’s already there!”

“I’m sure you’re exaggerating,” Jan said soothingly. “He’s not _here_ , is he?”

“No,” Tony grumbled. “But this _can’t_ be a coincidence. It’s happening too often. And unless he skipped Professor Pym’s class -- which of course he didn’t, because it’s _Steve_ \-- then he had to sprint clear across campus to steal my study carrel that one time. And I mean, a sprint across campus isn’t exactly a hardship for Mr. Perfect, there, but still, it’s a lot of effort to go to.”

“Which means he’s trying to catch you,” Jan pointed out. “Somewhere that he knows you’ll be. Why could he be doing that?” She had on her _dealing with Tony being dumb_ voice.

Tony huffed. “How should I know?”

“Okay, let’s try looking at this logically,” Jan said. “Why would Steve be showing up to find you at all your usual hangouts and workplaces?”

“Because he hates me and wants me to fail my classes,” Tony said, glum.

Jan tsked. “Now you’re just being obtuse,” she scolded.

But she still refused to tell Tony what she thought it was.

***

He was too stressed, he needed to unwind. An hour or two over at Club A, maybe a drink, and while Steve spent plenty of time in the club, too, he usually stayed on the dance floor, avoiding the bar.

But as Tony twisted through the throngs of students, he saw there was only one seat left at the bar -- and then a familiar set of wide shoulders squeezed between the other barflys and _no_. Just... _No_.

Tony pushed his way through the crowd and grabbed Steve’s shoulder.

“Tony!”

“Okay, out with it!” Tony demanded. “What’s your deal lately, soldier? Why have you been lurking everywhere I want to be for the last few days?”

At least Steve didn’t try to deny it. He hunched in on himself. “I didn’t think you’d noticed,” he mumbled, barely audible above the music.

“Well, I did,” Tony said. “What is it? Are you trying to get me in trouble? Starting a new Civil War?” He narrowed his eyes. “Did Fury put you up to this? Is he spying on me again? ‘Cause I’ve gotta say, Cap, you’re a _terrible_ spy.”

“I know,” Steve said miserably. He held up his hands and slid off the stool. “I’ll go, I’ll leave you alone.”

“Oh, no,” Tony said, though a minute ago that was all he’d wanted. “Not until you tell me what the hell you thought you were doing!”

Steve’s mouth firmed. “I was trying to work up the nerve to ask you out,” he said. “But you kept leaving before I could say anything.” A blush painted his cheeks red, but his jaw lifted stubbornly, daring Tony’s response.

Tony stared at him. “You... really? Did _Loki_ put you up to this? Because this is not the kind of prank I’d have pegged you for, Cap.”

Steve looked offended. “No! Of course not! That would be _cruel!_ ”

Tony swallowed. “You really want to go out with me? Like, on a date?”

“Like on a date,” Steve confirmed. The stubborn belligerence in his expression was melting into something softer and warmer. Something like hope. “What d’ya say?”

That Brooklyn drawl ought to be illegal, Tony thought. He reached out and caught Steve’s hand. “Okay,” he said. “You’re on. Want to go dance?” He jerked his head toward the dance floor.

Steve looked down at their joined hands, then laced their fingers together. “I was thinking something a little quieter for the first one,” he admitted. “Want to go walk in the park?”

“Anywhere you want to go would be great,” Tony said. “As long as we can go together.”

 


	6. Drink Me Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Square Filled: S2 - vampire/werewolf  
> Rating: E  
> Warnings: Sex, Blood-drinking (vampire)  
> Summary: Of course Bucky’s grateful to Tony for showing him that he doesn’t have to be a monster just because he’s a wyr. But that’s not the full extent of his feelings for the vampire.

The first time that Tony put his hand on the back of Bucky’s neck, Bucky nearly went to his knees right then and there. He wanted, he needed to show his throat, to offer himself up to the man who’d brought him back from the teetering edge of madness. Who’d shown him that there was still a life worth living. That he didn’t have to be a monster just because he was wyr.

Tony was _pack_ , and so much more than that, and Bucky would have sacrificed anything -- everything -- for him.

He was already tipping his head back and feeling his knees go weak when he remembered: showing your throat to a vampire was very different from showing your throat to another wyr. It wasn’t trust and acknowledgment of status; it was a very real offering of yourself to the vampire’s basest hunger.

But Tony’s hand felt so good there, so right, and Tony was _pack_ , and Tony would never hurt any of them, and Bucky almost completed the gesture anyway--

But then Steve and Thor came into the room and Bucky shuddered all over, like shaking water from his pelt, and straightened. Tony’s hand squeezed, just a tiny bit, as if to say _I know what you were thinking_ , and then let go. Tony was gone, then, following Thor across the room to ask about some test or experiment or... something.

“Stop lookin’ at me like that, Rogers,” Bucky said.

“I’m not looking at you like anything,” Steve protested.

“Bullshit you’re not.”

“I think it’s sweet,” Steve said. Couldn’t even keep up the lie for two sentences. Pathetic.

“It’s not sweet.”

“It’s adorable. A little puppy lo--” Steve yelped, laughing, as Bucky tackled him.

***

It wasn’t puppy love. Oh, god, it really wasn’t. Bucky could remember harboring crushes on pretty girls or handsome guys, most of a century ago. He could remember that fluttering excitement, the way his cheeks would ache from blushing, the longing stares and clumsy attempts to get the object of his affections to notice him.

This didn’t feel like that at _all_. This cut deeper. He didn’t need to watch Tony; he could _feel_ Tony’s presence like a sun’s warmth at his back. He didn’t have to hope for attention, not when Tony gave it so freely -- but he couldn’t help craving more. He wanted Tony to notice him, but more than that, he wanted to see Tony smile, especially if Bucky could be the cause of it. Wanted Tony to laugh and be happy. Whenever the pack was together and Tony was making that soft, contented hum, Bucky’s spine tingled down at the base, wagging the tail he didn’t have.

Bucky wanted Tony, but more than that, he _needed_ Tony. Bucky gravitated toward Tony so easily that his sleep schedule began to shift.

Steve’s teasing was relentless for a while, but then turned into actual encouragement. “Your wolf’s already staked his claim,” Steve pointed out, because that was true -- every time the full moon came around, Bucky’s wolf spent the whole three days in Tony’s shadow. And Tony allowed it. “Pretty sure Tony knows how you feel. So you might as well reap the benefits.”

It took Bucky another full moon cycle to work up the nerve, though.

Another three nights of his wolf shamelessly begging for Tony’s touch, for Tony’s warm praise. Another three nights of lying half in Tony’s lap, feeling those long, cool fingers scratching through his fur. Another three nights of Tony’s light, tantalizing scent in his muzzle, at the back of his tongue.

Another three mornings of waking up with Tony sitting at his side, working on a holographic screen with one hand while the other rested gently on Bucky’s side or his shoulder or -- that last morning -- his hip.

_I want to wake up like this every morning_ , he thought, and it was such a natural, easy thought that he repeated it aloud.

Tony went still. “I think you’re confusing gratitude with something more,” he said softly.

“I’m not.”

“Bucky, I’m a _vampire_. Do you even know what you’re asking?”

“Vampires feed from their mortal mates,” Bucky said, because he knew the lore. “You’ve fed me enough times. I want it.” Bucky rolled over to look up at Tony, deliberately letting his head fall back. “You want it, too.”

Tony’s jaw worked, and his eyes dilated a little at the sight of Bucky’s throat, and he didn’t try to deny it. “Steve would be so furious...”

“Steve gave me his blessing weeks ago,” Bucky said. He sat up, certain now, and crawled into Tony’s space almost as eagerly as his wolf. “Are you going to kiss me, or not?”

Tony’s hand curled around the side of Bucky’s neck, over his jugular. “I could hurt you,” he said softly. “Wyr blood is... I could take too much.”

“You’re pack,” Bucky said simply. “You won’t hurt me.” He leaned close, almost close enough to kiss Tony himself. “Please?”

Tony’s gaze dropped to Bucky’s mouth, and then he closed the space between them, a gentle brush of lips, and then another, and then his hand on Bucky’s neck _pulled_ and their mouths were sealed together in a searing kiss.

Bucky closed his eyes and gave himself up to it, surrendering wholly. Tony groaned and his teeth scraped Bucky’s lower lip. “Bucky, I...” His lips followed the curve of Bucky’s jaw, down Bucky’s neck.

Bucky didn’t even feel the scrape or puncture of Tony’s fangs; just the soft feel of Tony’s lips and tongue, and then Tony was sucking at his throat, a dizzying swoon of a feeling. “Oh.”

Tony hummed softly and he wrapped his hand in Bucky’s hair to tug Bucky’s head further to the side. Bucky willingly went where Tony moved him. “Oh, Tony, I...”

“ _Fuck_ , you’re sweet,” Tony gasped, pulling away as if it pained him. He leaned back in and licked. And then again. His pale skin was flushed -- with Bucky’s blood, Bucky realized belatedly, and it wasn’t as alarming as it would have been, if it had been anyone other than Tony.

“Bucky--” Tony kissed Bucky again, and his mouth was warm, now, tasting of copper and iron, and Bucky couldn’t get enough. Tony was standing up, still kissing Bucky. Bucky followed, helpless to do anything else.

“Where--” he tried to ask, but Tony kissed him again, hand closing on Bucky’s wrist and pulling with surprising strength.

Into the elevator, which -- oh, right. It was morning. Tony had to get away from the windows. And go to bed. Bucky shivered all over at that thought and pushed Tony back against the elevator wall, kissing him with renewed vigor. Tony didn’t protest, just leaned against the wall, wrapping his arms around Bucky’s neck.

“Tony, _god_ ,” Bucky gasped. He tucked his face into Tony’s neck and breathed in the scent of him, sweet and cool like metal. “I want... I want this, I want you so much.”

“Good,” Tony hummed, and Bucky barely had enough warning to brace for it as Tony lifted his legs and wrapped them around Bucky’s waist. The elevator stopped while they were kissing again, and Tony just tugged lightly on Bucky’s hair until Bucky caught the hint and carried him out into Tony’s floor.

No windows, but the space was surprisingly well-lit, an elaborate workshop filled with computers and armor and other things that Bucky didn’t recognize. Tony pointed imperiously. “That way.”

Bucky followed the pointing finger through the workshop and into a bedroom. “I don’t remember anything in the legends about vampires’ mates bein’ turned into pack mules,” he joked.

Tony pretended offense. “Pack mules are for carrying _stuff_.  You, my beautiful wyr, are carrying _me_. That makes you the finest of thoroughbreds--”

Bucky snorted and inelegantly dropped Tony on the bed. “You wanna take a horse to bed, you’re with the wrong wyr.”

“Well,” Tony said slyly, sitting up enough to snare Bucky’s shirt and pull him down, “maybe I’ll settle for _hung_ like a horse.”

Bucky couldn’t help laughing. “That’s terrible. Why am I even here?”

“You want out, this is the last chance I’m giving you,” Tony said.

“I do not want out,” Bucky said. He stripped off his shirt and threw it on the floor. “I want in. I very much want in.”

“Great, you can top this time,” Tony said with a bright grin. He tossed a bottle of lube onto the bed by Bucky’s knee, and then pulled off his own shirt.

But before Bucky could reach for it, Tony had pushed him over onto his back and straddled his waist in one smooth motion. Bucky looked up, breath short with desire. “Tony...”

Tony smiled. “Yes.” He nosed down Bucky’s neck, licking again at the wound he’d made earlier, and then mouthed down over Bucky’s chest. He scraped his teeth over Bucky’s nipple, and Bucky whined at the sensation until Tony came back to soothe it with his tongue.

“Sensitive,” Tony murmured. “I like it.” He splayed his hands over Bucky’s chest, stroking and tweaking and touching, even as he continued to torment Bucky’s nipples with his teeth and tongue.

When Bucky was arched and gasping, Tony relented, making his way downward to Bucky’s stomach. He unbuttoned Bucky’s pants. “Where do your clothes go when you change?” he wondered.

“Dunno,” Bucky panted. “Don’t care. Want ‘em off now.”

“Soon,” Tony promised. Bucky pushed his fingers through Tony’s hair, and Tony caught his hand and kissed the inside of Bucky’s wrist, tender and sweet. Bucky started to say something, and then completely lost his train of thought as Tony met his eyes with a wicked smile.

Tony lowered his mouth to Bucky’s wrist again. Even watching, Bucky only felt the wound as the slightest of pinpricks against his skin, and then Tony was drinking again, tongue lapping at Bucky’s wrist in a way that made Bucky’s skin turn hot and cold at once.

When he pulled away, his skin was even warmer, his eyes brighter. “You taste like sunshine,” Tony told him. “Wyr blood is powerful, but I could get addicted to you.”

Bucky looked at his wrist. A tiny drop of blood crawled down the skin from a barely-visible cut. Tony couldn’t have taken very much. He licked that drop off himself, then kissed Tony with it still on his tongue.

Tony gasped and then groaned and thrust his tongue deep into Bucky’s mouth, mapping it frantically. “God,” Tony panted, “you’re so-- Do you know what that _does_ to me?”

Bucky laughed and rolled them back over, pinning Tony’s hands over his head. “I’m getting an idea,” Bucky said. Tony tugged at his wrists, and Bucky thought if he put all his strength into it, Bucky would have to fight to keep the hold, but then Tony subsided, apparently content to let Bucky take the lead.

Bucky nosed and tasted his way down Tony’s body, and fuck, no wonder his wolf liked Tony so much. Tony smelled so _good_ , everywhere.

Tony didn’t seem to be as sensitive as Bucky, but he pushed into each touch and lick and taste with hedonistic pleasure.

Bucky peeled off Tony’s pants and swallowed Tony’s cock in one long slide, letting it rest heavy and full against his tongue, pressing against the back of his throat. Tony arched into it, groaning Bucky’s name, and that-- yes. _Yes_. He wanted more of that.

Bucky leaned on Tony’s hips to keep him still and went to work, licking and tasting and teasing, until Tony was writhing and cursing and panting.

He pulled away only long enough to finally shuck the rest of his clothes and then climbed back onto the bed, grabbing for the lube as he licked another long stripe up Tony’s cock. “Gonna make it good,” he promised. “Gonna make you feel so good.”

Tony pushed his fingers into Bucky’s hair the same way he stroked through the wolf’s fur, digging deep and scratching lightly. Bucky pressed into the touch, but didn’t stop, either, working one finger into Tony’s hole, feeling the heat and the tight clench of him.

Bucky lapped at Tony’s cock, teasing around the head and slit. By the time he’d worked his finger fully into Tony’s body, Tony’s thighs were trembling and Tony was gasping harshly for each breath. Bucky sucked a hickey into Tony’s inner thigh, amused at the thought that it was his own blood that stained Tony’s pale skin.

Bucky added more lube and worked in a second finger, tugging at Tony’s rim and twisting gently until the muscle eased and relaxed. He found Tony’s prostate almost by accident, but then spent a while tormenting it, darting more light licks along Tony’s cock until Tony was arching half off the bed and whimpering, his hands curled into fists in the blankets.

“Bucky,” Tony gasped. “Damn it, I need you now.”

“Yeah,” Bucky agreed, hoarse with his own need. He slicked his cock, and pressed against Tony’s opening. “Let me in, gorgeous, just--”

It was so tight that Bucky saw stars with each miniscule press forward, but Tony had a leg wrapped around his hip now, urging him on. “More,” Tony demanded, “give me _more_.”

Bucky gave him more, and more again, gave all of himself, until he was as deep as he could go, his face pressed into the curve of Tony’s throat.

“Move,” Tony groaned, rolling his own body in encouragement. “ _Move_.”

Bucky moved. He drew out until the head of his cock was tugging at Tony’s rim, and then pushed back in, a slick, steady thrust. Again. And again, faster now.

And faster still, until he had a smooth rhythm, until Tony was arching up to meet each thrust, until the heat and pressure seemed to move from Bucky’s cock into his balls, building with each moment. He braced his arm and worked a hand between their bodies, gripping Tony’s cock, giving Tony a slick, tight ring to push into.

“Next... next time,” Bucky panted. “Next time, I want you on your knees, so I can go even deeper.” His wolf rumbled in pleasure at the thought of covering Tony properly, pushing him down and biting at Tony’s shoulder.

“Next time,” Tony returned, words staccato with their rhythm, “maybe I’ll put you on _your_ knees.”

That shot heat through Bucky’s belly and he had to fight to stave off his orgasm.

“Come for me, baby,” he begged. “Want to see you fall apart, need to hear your sounds, need to feel you around me.”

“Almost...” Tony’s face was pressed into Bucky’s neck, and Bucky couldn’t even tell if Tony was drinking from him again or just licking at the skin, but either way it made him shiver, faltering in his movements. “Ah!” Tony clenched down and tightened his grip, and wet heat spread between their bodies.

Bucky let himself drive into Tony’s body faster, then, harder, and Tony was saying something encouraging but he couldn’t make out the words, didn’t want to. Didn’t want to think about anything but the feel of Tony’s body around him, the swiftly-building heat and electric spark of need in his belly and groin. Didn’t want to stop, _couldn’t_ stop, not now--

His climax washed over him in waves of white heat and cool green relief, and he cried out at the intensity, at the perfection.

He came to himself still buried in Tony’s body, Tony’s hand slowly brushing through his hair. “Oh, god,” he groaned. “That was amazing.”

“Mm, yes it was.” Tony nosed into the curve of Bucky’s neck again. “Definitely addicted to you now.”

“Good,” Bucky said. He carefully withdrew, and flopped onto his back, panting. “No cure, I hope.”

Tony groped around until he found his shirt and used it to wipe them clean. “No cure,” he confirmed. “We’ll just have to live with it.” He curled against Bucky’s body, pillowed his head on Bucky’s shoulder. “Mine, now.”

“Mine,” Bucky agreed. “Forever.”

 


	7. Stamped and Sorted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Square Filled: T2 - meeting alternate universe counterparts  
> Rating: G  
> Warnings: None  
> Summary: This is the weirdest dream Tony’s had in a long time.

Tony opened his eyes to find himself in the midst of a gray, featureless plain.

Well, not _entirely_ featureless. Once he got to his feet and turned around, he saw a large crowd of people milling around, maybe two blocks away. Or possibly three or four. It was hard to judge distances without any landmarks or buildings or... anything.

Tony headed toward them. The closer he got, the weirder the crowd looked, though it took him a while to pin down -- it was the relative homogeneity. The crowd seemed to be mostly males. Mostly brunets. Mostly with the same olive-toned skin.

Mostly... mostly _him_?

This was the weirdest dream he’d had in a long time.

“I haven’t even watched _Being John Malkovich_ in years,” he complained aloud.

One of the Tonys on the closer edge of the crowd turned and spotted Tony. He waved. “Hey, another one!” He broke away from the other Tonys that he’d been talking to and came forward to offer Tony a hand. “Welcome to the party!”

“Uh,” Tony said. “Okay.”

“Oh, are you a first-timer?” the other Tony said. “Okay, that’s fine, there’s a protocol for that. Come on.” He took off through the crowd, glancing back every few steps to make sure Tony was following him.

“What’s going on?”

“Near as we can tell, it’s some kind of multiversal crossroads,” the other Tony said. “It happens a few times a year.”

“How come I’ve never seen it before, then?”

“Oh, not all of us are caught up in it every time,” the other Tony told him. “There are some of us who get snared more often than others -- we call them the Core -- and the rest of us may go years between visits.”

They passed a cluster of Tonys who all appeared to be in their teens, each talking excitedly over the others.

“How long will I be here?” Tony wondered.

“It usually only lasts a few hours. Lots of us wake up thinking it was a dream.”

“Huh,” Tony said noncommittally. There were several of him as a woman, arms linked and heads conspiratorially close. He made a striking woman, as it turned out.

“Here we go,” said Tony’s guide. “Hey, Records, I’ve got a new one for you!”

Records was an older Tony, with hair more silver than dark. He had a neat, simple beard and wire-rimmed glasses. “Welcome aboard,” he told Tony. “Let’s get you properly catalogued, shall we?”

“Catalogued?”

“Mm. It keeps things simple. And I’m tracking who shows up to each event, to see if we can discern any patterns.”

“That makes sense,” Tony said.

“We thought so,” Records said, smiling. He squinted at Tony’s face for a moment, and then said, “Full name?”

“Anthony Edward Stark.”

“Good, good. Any siblings?”

“Not that I’m aware of.”

“Current romantic interest?”

“None, really.”

Records’ eyebrow went up. “That’s unusual. No interest, or just not reciprocated?”

“I mean...” Tony could feel himself flushing, but if he couldn’t tell _himself_ , who could he tell? “I might have a bit of a crush on someone, but there’s no way.”

Records smiled tolerantly. “You might be surprised,” he said. “We’ve got versions here in relationships with Pepper, with Natasha Romanov, Janet Van Dyne, Steve Rogers, Jim Rhodes, Bucky Barnes, Peter Quill, Victor Von Doom, Madame Masque... We get all sorts here, really.”

“Well, when you put it like that,” Tony said, mind whirling, “it doesn’t seem entirely hopeless.”

“That’s the spirit!” Records said.

The questions went on. And on and on and on. Age, profession, net worth, best friend, what year was it, whether he drank, was he a superhero (what kind of question was _that?_ ), whether his parents were alive, had he ever required a prosthesis...

Finally, Records wound down. “I think I’ve got you properly sorted now,” he said with a smile. “Come with me, and I’ll introduce you to some of us that are in similar situations to yours.”

“You sure I can’t just... wake up or whatever and go home?” Tony asked reluctantly.

“I’m sure. Besides, maybe they’ll be able to help you out with your romantic situation.”

Well. Maybe Tony could stay a _bit_ longer.

 


	8. A Little Cooperation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Square Filled: A2 - Hope Pym  
> Rating: G  
> Warnings: None  
> Summary: Tony and Hope could work brilliantly together, if only they can stop fighting.

“Nanoparticles are _clearly_ the superior choice, here!”

“I didn’t think even you could be that stupid! The quantum approach is much more flexible!”

“Uh, sure, if by _flexible_ you mean _tied to the existence and power requirements of a quantum field generator!_ Nanoparticles are their own energy source; they can function literally anywhere!”

“Quantum travel isn’t limited to Newtonian physics! You can create an exit point anywhere!”

“Yeah, as long as you’ve got your coordinates nailed down to the fourteenth degree. The tiniest margin of error could land you in the center of a star!”

Bucky stood in the doorway to the living room for a long moment, watching the argument, then turned around and headed for the kitchen. Sure enough, the kitchen table was crowded with superheroes simultaneously avoiding and listening in on the fight. “What’s going on?”

“I introduced my girlfriend to Stark,” Scott said, his face long.

“Didn’t her dad and Tony’s dad have a major falling out?” Bucky asked.

“Yeah,” Scott sighed, “but I didn’t think they’d have passed it on to their kids, you know?”

Bucky snorted. “Let me tell you something: if Howard Stark had an opinion on something, he made sure Tony knew about it.” Not that Tony always _shared_ his father’s opinions -- witness Tony’s initial impression of Captain America -- but the two of them were surprisingly similar when it came to science. It wasn’t surprising that the elder Stark’s disdain for Hank Pym’s subject and methods had been passed on to the younger.

“Yeah,” Scott said with a sigh. “I know that now.”

“Lemme guess. You did the introduction, and Tony immediately said something snarky about Hank.”

“Got it in one.”

Bucky sighed and went back to stand in the door to the living room.

“--because I build my algorithms with those limitations in mind! You don’t seem to even want to admit that quantum tunneling _has_ limitations!”

“Of course it has limitations; I’m not a _moron_. I’m just saying that there aren’t any particular--”

Bucky put two fingers to his lips and blew a sharp whistle. The sudden silence was deafening as Tony and Hope both stared at him in surprise.

“What are the possibilities for combining the two fields?” he asked.

There was stunned silence for a moment. Tony stared at Hope. Hope stared back at Tony. And then...

“Quantum power cells could increase the efficiency of nanoparticles by at least forty percent.”

“Closer to fifty. And I think a more efficient combination would be to generate nanite machines that could then be sent into the quantum field to harvest subparticles.”

“With the right algorithms, you could use nanoparticles to _create_ the quantum field generator, thereby making it infinitely more portable.”

“They could build the configuration, but I doubt the energy output would be sufficient. On the other hand, nanoparticle computations have a much higher degree of accuracy--”

Bucky went back into the kitchen. “Fixed it.”

The others looked relieved, but Scott looked even more distressed. “How am I supposed to separate them _now?_ ”

 


	9. Minion Report

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Square Filled: R2 - writing format: first person  
> Rating: G  
> Warnings: None  
> Summary: Minions don't get enough credit.

My role was critical to Dr. Dare’s plan.

It was my job to build, program, and install the bombs at the corners of the building, to ensure no one could disable them all at the same time. If one of them were to be disarmed even a hundredth of a second before the others, the remaining bombs would blow. Even SHIELD would need to take their time with that threat.

All of which would give Dr. Dare time to put the rest of his plan into motion.

I don’t know much about the rest of it. I was just a minion, really; it’s not like the Doctor ate lunch in the staffroom or anything. I had my orders, and I was expected to follow them. I even had a couple of sub-minions to help me! I mean, they weren’t _mine_ , mine -- I couldn’t sacrifice them or use them in my experiments or anything without permission -- but they had to help get all the materials I needed for my bombs, and Jeff did a code review for me. You can’t overstate the importance of a good code review when you’re supplying a critical component of your boss’ evil plan, you know? I put in a good word for him with the sub-minion supervisor. It’s tough to break out of the sub-minion level, I remember.

So we set out at about two in the morning -- evil never sleeps, is what the Doctor says, and of course it was the best time to get our stuff done without anyone spotting us. We all rode together in the van. Most efficient, really. I think it was Jenny driving, or maybe it was Gina. I never really got to know the physical-stuff henchmen that well.

We got to the place a little before three, and we all split up to do our parts. The physical guys went inside with the Doctor -- I think Kevin and Angie went with them to pick the locks and bypass the security stuff -- and me and Jeff and Eric went to set the bombs.

That part went off without a hitch -- I was so proud of my little team. I figured Jeff and Eric would definitely get promoted to full minion after this, and I might even make it into the ranks of henchmen whose names the Doctor bothers to learn.

Anyway, there was always a chance that someone would show up to foil the Doctor’s plan. He might have been counting on it, actually -- but like I said, I didn’t know the whole thing, just my part, with the bombs.

So we were on the lookout for do-gooders right from the start. I mean, what good are terrifyingly synchronized bombs if you don’t _warn_ them, right? Some idiot would just start trying to disarm them one at a time and then -- boom! No more building! The Doctor would be okay, of course, but what about Kevin and Angie and all the goons?

I figured there was a pretty decent chance that someone would’ve spotted us and called the cops, but I wasn’t worried about the cops. No cop was going to come within thirty feet of my bombs. They’d have to call the feds and the SWAT guys, and you _know_ how long those guys take to scramble.

So we -- Jeff and me -- we had kind of a bet going. I thought that SHIELD would show up first, and he thought it would be the FBI. Seriously, the FBI. No wonder he’s been a sub-minion for so long, right?

But yeah, we figured probably it would be one of the alphabet soup agencies. Maybe, if we were lucky, we might get a glimpse of Hawkeye or Spider-Man backing them up. I got my hand webbed to a wall once, back when I was a sub-minion myself -- no lie! It was kind of cool.

I was _kind of_ hoping for an appearance from Falcon. I didn’t say it out loud, of course -- that’s the kind of thing only noobies say, even though I think, deep down, most of us are just dying to be worth the effort of one of the top tier guys, you know? All the physical guys have at least half a dozen stories about getting punched by Cap or choked by Black Widow, but I’m pretty sure they’re all baloney.

But I have to say, I never in my wildest dreams expected _Iron Man_ to show up. I almost swooned on the spot, which would’ve been really embarrassing. But I managed to hold it together. I stepped up and started to deliver my spiel about the timing thing, and -- oh my god -- he told me to shut up.

Yeah, that’s right. Iron Man _spoke to me_. To me! Personally!

Jeff was losing his shit, and I don’t even know what happened to Eric.

Of course, Iron Man didn’t even need me to tell him about the synchronization. He worked it out from the way I’d aligned the transistors. And then suddenly -- _whoosh!_ \-- a whole bunch of his Iron Legion ‘bots came out of nowhere and surrounded the bombs. It took them about forty seconds to work out how to disarm everything without setting off the bombs.

I delayed Iron Man for _forty seconds_. Beat _that_ , hot-shit Jamal from Madame Doom’s crew!

Anyway, right after that was done, he knocked me and Jeff unconscious, so I don’t know any more about what went down, but I heard through the rumor mill that the Doctor got closer to executing his Evil Plan this time than with any previous attempt. And it was due, at least in part, to my work.

And that’s what happened, Your Honor.


	10. He Doth Protest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Square Filled: K2 - comics  
> Rating: G  
> Warnings: None.  
> Summary: Tony’s got a bone to pick with the latest issue of Avengers Adventures. Who comes up with these ridiculous stories, anyway?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is inspired by That One Comic where Tony and Steve spend the day together on what is _clearly_ a date. You all know the one I mean.

“Good mornin’, boss,” Friday chirped. “You’ve got a brunch meeting at ten with the lawyers to go over several items, including the latest snags in the Foundation’s incorporation, an eleven-thirty with Ms. Potts to discuss the acquisition analysis, a meeting at two with R&D team leads, a work session with Dr. Banner from four to six, Avengers team dinner at seven--”

“Who’s cooking this week?”

“Clint.”

“Hard pass, I’ll order out and stay in the workshop. Anything else?”

“The latest issues of _Avengers Adventures_ have been released,” Friday said. “You promised Ms. Potts you’d sign a stack for her to send to th’ children’s hopsital.”

“Ug,” Tony complained. “It’s a terrible comic.”

“It _is_ for children, boss. They’d likely not understand the realities of superhero life.”

“I’m not complaining about the lack of reality,” Tony said. “I’m complaining about the fact that whoever writes those things _clearly_ thinks Steve and I are knocking boots.”

“Speaking of Captain Rogers,” Friday put in, “he’s just inquired whether you’ve got time for a sparring session today. Shall I tell him your docket is full?”

“Mm, no, we can blow off the R&D meeting. If I keep telling them how to fix their things, they’ll never learn to do it on their own.”

***

Pepper made the lawyers deliver the stack of comics to be signed, which should have been a sign, but instead, Tony just chalked it up to Pep’s usual ruthless efficiency.

At least, until he opened the issue and skimmed through it.

What the hell.

The writers weren’t even trying to disguise their intentions anymore. Fully half the issue was devoted to Tony and Steve on what could only be called a date. They sparred together. They visited a school together. They ate a picnic lunch in the park together. They played one-on-one basketball together. They foiled a minor villain together. And then they went out for burgers together. Just the two of them. On what was _clearly a date_.

And okay, okay, Tony _did_ do all those things with Steve, from time to time, except maybe the picnic thing, because _really?_ But first of all, Tony didn’t have that much spare time in a single day unless he was so sick (or injured) that he was confined to bed -- in which case he definitely wasn’t having picnics and playing one-on-one. Second of all, there was no reason at all to show Steve guarding Tony _that closely_ in the basketball game. Third of all, a _picnic_? _Really?_

“What the hell is this?” Tony demanded of Vanessa, who headed up the law team he was meeting with.

“Mr. Stark, you approved and licensed the comic book franchise over a year ago,” Vanessa said.

“I know that.” Tony waved it off. “But what the hell is _this?_ ”

Vanessa’s eyes sharpened. “Did they print something libelous?” She took the comic out of his hand and flipped through it with practiced ease. “No,” she concluded, “this all seems to be in good order.”

“In good order? How can it be in good order? It’s...” Tony flailed, unable to articulate his frustration.

“It’s a cute kids’ comic about two good friends hanging out together,” Vanessa said. “I don’t know what your issue is with it, Mr. Stark, but it’s not a legal issue. Do you not like the art?”

***

“No,” Pepper said, as soon as Tony walked into her office brandishing the comic. “I don’t want to hear it.”

“Pepper, surely you can do _some_ thing,” Tony cajoled. “They’re practically _married_ , here, it’s _awful._ ”

Pepper skewered him with her gaze. “Is it awful because you don’t want to be married to Steve, or because you aren’t?”

Tony sputtered. “Have you even _seen_ it?”

“I have,” she said easily. “And I think it’s sweet. It’s nice to see married couples that are still close like that.” Her mouth twitched like she was suppressing a smile.

“Pepper, I’m hurt,” Tony said. “I’m shocked and hurt that you would abuse my affections for you this way.”

“I don’t know why you would be; it’s nothing new.” Pepper reached across the desk and plucked the comic from his hands. “Now, sit down and let’s go over this acquisition analysis so I’m not late for my twelve-fifteen.”

***

“Have you seen the latest issue of the comics?” he asked Steve, as they danced around each other on the mats.

Steve threw a jab, and Tony danced back out of reach. “Yeah,” Steve said. “I dunno, I think the new artist draws my nose kind of weird. And your beard is all wrong.”

“It’s a complicated shape,” Tony allowed. “I wouldn’t want to draw it four or five times per page, either. Your nose looks fine.” He lunged into a feint, then tried a leg-sweep.

Steve jumped nimbly over it, because of course he did. “Nice one!” he praised. “Almost got me there.” He charged.

Tony tried to roll with it, to use Steve’s momentum to put himself back on top, but it wasn’t much of a contest. He wound up flat on his back, Steve straddling his chest. Only one arm was pinned, but Steve was an unmoveable lump. There wasn’t much Tony could do with his free arm. He slapped at the mat. “Your round,” he admitted.

Steve jumped up and offered Tony a hand. “You’re distracted today,” he observed. “Is it the comic?”

“Kind of, yeah,” Tony said. “You didn’t notice anything weird about it?”

“Except for the nose,” Steve said, “not really. Why, what did you spot?”

Tony made a face and wiped the sweat off his forehead. “I don’t know, I just thought it seemed like the story had us spending a lot of time together.”

“I liked that,” Steve said. “You don’t get enough time to just relax, in the real world. Might as well have some fun in the pretend one.” He danced from one foot to another, shadow-boxing. “You going to be at dinner tonight?”

“Clint’s cooking,” Tony pointed out, “so, no. Anyway, I’m behind on my repairs.”

Steve shook his head, but he chuckled. “I almost think he does it on purpose,” he said. “But you should eat, Tony.”

“I had a big brunch,” Tony said, stretching. “I’ll grab a smoothie, it’ll be fine.”

Steve made a disapproving noise. “How about if I bring you tacos from that one truck you like?”

“I guess I could make time for that.”

Steve grinned. “Got time for one more round?”

Tony checked the clock. He’d be a few minutes late for Bruce, but Bruce would understand. “One more,” he agreed.

***

“It’s not that I object to them showing us as close,” Tony told Bruce, as he ran the analyses on Bruce’s latest collated data. “It’s just that they’re going to mislead the fans into thinking we’re closer than we actually are.”

“Uh-huh,” Bruce said, laser focused on his data collection. “Tony, I’m seeing a spike in samples fourteen and thirty, can you--?”

“Yep, I’m on it, greenbean,” Tony agreed. He adjusted his models and accepted the data that Bruce flung at him. “And I wouldn’t care about the adults -- there are always going to be rumors and gossip. I mean, there’s a whole cadre of fans who ship the two of us, which is fair, because I’m totally in love with your big, beautiful brain.”

“What do the analyses say about these anomalous readings?” Bruce asked.

“So far it looks like they’re random spikes that’ll settle out again shortly.” Tony flipped the analysis results back over to Bruce’s workstation so he could play with the numbers. “It’s the _kids_ I’m worried about. You know how much I hate to disappoint the kids, right?”

“Sure,” Bruce said distractedly. He adjusted one of the numbers and grunted. “Are you seeing these results, if the beta emissions exceed ten percent?”

“When are beta emissions going to exceed ten percent?” Tony asked. “You’re delving into the realm of the highly theoretical, there. They might go as high as three percent, but ten is just wildly improbable.”

“But still possible,” Bruce pointed out.

Tony sighed. “Fine, but figure out the threshold and mark it. I’m guessing a less than one percent probability. More like one hundredth of a percent. Unlike the probability that some kid is going to get it into their head that Steve and I are dating because of these damn comics.”

Bruce chewed thoughtfully on the end of a pencil. “You know what the solution is, right?”

“Sure; boost the thermal controls so we can get a higher efficiency rating without increasing the risk of beta output.”

“No, I mean-- Well, yes, that will definitely reduce the beta emission problem, but I meant the solution to your problem with the comics.”

“I’m all ears, Jolly Green.”

Bruce tucked the pencil behind his ear and started entering the thermal slide calculations. “You should just ask him out.”

“What? No. No, that’s a terrible idea.” Tony stared at Bruce in dismay.

Bruce shrugged. “It would solve the problem, wouldn’t it?”

“Only if he said yes,” Tony pointed out. “Which he wouldn’t.”

“If you’re going to insist on drawing conclusions in the absence of empirical data,” Bruce said, pushing his glasses up his nose, “then get out of my lab.”

***

“You know what,” Tony said as he finished his third taco, “I’m going to just go down there and ask.”

Steve gulped down the remains of what had to be his fifth. “Go down where?”

“To the _Avengers Adventures_ office, of course.” Tony fished in the bag for a napkin that wasn’t already soaked through with grease.

“Of... course,” Steve said slowly. “To ask them what, exactly?” He picked up his own napkin and handed it to Tony.

“Thanks.” Tony wiped grease off his hands and brushed taco crumbs out of his beard. “To ask where the hell they keep coming up with these ridiculous stories they’re telling! Try to keep up, Rogers.”

“There is no keeping up with you, Tony,” Steve said, though it sounded fond. “Wait, to ask _what?_ I don’t know if that’s a good idea. I mean, it’s not that important, is it? They’re just cute little stories for kids, and--”

“That’s exactly why I need to know,” Tony said. “They’re dealing with impressionable young minds!” He tossed the napkin into the trash and strode out of the workshop.

Steve caught up with him before he got to the elevator. “It’s dinnertime,” Steve said. “They’ve probably all gone home.”

Tony snorted. “I doubt it. Half the people working in this building are obsessive workaholics. I’m sure there will be _some_ one there.”

Steve made a noise like he wanted to protest again, but then swallowed it.

Avengers Adventures had a corner office on the sixty-third floor and, as Tony had expected, there were plenty of people working late. One of them, a stout middle-aged woman with red hair that was beginning to go gray, looked up as Tony entered. Her focus went over Tony’s shoulder, and her face lit up in a bright smile. Steve had that effect on people. “Captain Rogers!” she said. “We weren’t expecting you again today!”

That was an odd thing to say. Tony twisted to look at Steve and caught him frantically shaking his head at the woman. “Steven?” Tony said. “Something you’d like to share with the class?”

“Not really, no,” Steve tried.

“Didn’t you know?” the woman said cheerfully. “Captain Rogers comes by on a regular basis to help out with our storylines!”

“Oh, _does_ he,” Tony said. He raised his eyebrows at Steve, who was... blushing? “Excuse us,” he said to the comics lady, and pushed Steve back out of the office and into the hallway. “Do I have _you_ to thank for the Amazing Date Adventure?”

“Okay, I know it’s dumb,” Steve sighed. He pushed his fingers through his hair. “I just... I wanted _one_ world where things worked out right.”

“Right,” Tony repeated. He took a half-step closer to Steve, who was avoiding his gaze. “What does _right_ mean, Steve?”

“It, uh, I just, I mean, I wanted--”

“Go out with me,” Tony said.

“What?” Steve stared at him, eyes huge.

“On an actual date,” Tony clarified. “Something that normal people do, instead of, apparently, smearing your crush all over the pages of a kiddie comic.”

“A date,” Steve said.

“Yes. You know. Dinner. A movie. Jet to the Bahamas.”

“Normal people do not jet to the Bahamas for a date,” Steve pointed out, that fond smile curling his lips.

“Well, fortunately for you,” Tony said, grinning up at him in sudden warmth, “you’re not dating a normal person.”

 


	11. The Pleasures of Pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Square Filled: S3 - spanking  
> Rating: E  
> Warnings: Dom/sub undertones  
> Summary: The first time was an accident. After that, it was just fun.

The first time it happened was almost an accident; they were getting dressed for a television interview and Tony was running a little behind because he’d wanted to finish up a project he’d been working on before going upstairs to change.

So he was wearing his shirt and boxer-briefs and socks, and there was a tie around his neck but it wasn’t tied yet because Tony was still putting on his cufflinks (the custom diamond and sapphire arc reactor ones that Bucky had given him for their anniversary), and he hadn’t stepped into his slacks yet. And Bucky -- fully dressed -- walked behind him, paused to conspicuously take in the view, and then smacked Tony’s rear, just enough to make Tony jump at the sharp sting.

“Get your gorgeous rump in gear,” he advised, then leaned past Tony for his cologne.

Heat spread out from the point of contact. It made for an interesting tingling sensation that went straight to Tony’s balls. Startled, he glanced up into the mirror at his boyfriend.

Bucky paused in the midst of dabbing on his cologne, meeting the reflection of Tony’s gaze. He looked confused for an instant, and then his mouth curved into a smirk. “Oh, you liked that, did you?”

Tony smirked right back at Bucky. “Maybe I did,” he said. “What about you?”

Bucky’s eyes turned dark and he licked his lips. “Maybe I did,” he said. He took a breath, then looked at the clock and cursed. “We’ll finish this later,” he promised.

Unfortunately, the interview was interrupted by a rampaging villainous army, and by the time they finally made it back to bed, they were too exhausted to do more than fall into each other’s arms and sleep.

***

The second time wasn’t an accident, but it wasn’t precisely planned, either. Tony was on his knees and Bucky was pounding into him and they were both gasping and sweaty. “That’s it, baby,” Bucky crooned, hands clamped on Tony’s hips, thumbs digging into his ass to spread him even wider. “God, you’re so beautiful, so fuckin’ gorgeous like this, I want to just take a damn bite out of you.”

Tony groaned and pushed back into Bucky’s thrusts. “You like that thought, dollbaby?” Bucky wondered. “You want me to bite right down on you, mark you up so you’ll feel me for _days_?” He let go of Tony’s hip long enough to smack the perfect globe of that ass, felt the shockwave of it as it resonated through Tony’s body.

Tony clenched down and let out a sound like a sob and pushed his ass up and out, begging wordlessly. So Bucky smacked him again, watching in amazement as a handprint came up red against that pale skin.

Tony tightened around him and it was the best thing Bucky had ever felt. “Oh, baby,” he whispered, “you don’t know what you do to me.”

“Bucky,” Tony gasped. “Please...”

“I gotcha, sweetheart,” Bucky promised. He started thrusting harder, deeper, pushing down on Tony’s spine to get the angle he knew nailed Tony’s prostate. And every couple of thrusts, he’d land a blow on Tony’s ass. He couldn’t hit terribly hard at this angle, but that didn’t matter; Tony was panting, begging, writhing on Bucky’s cock, and Bucky could barely keep himself from coming just from the sight of it.

“Oh, god, Tony,” Bucky groaned. “Baby, you look so good, half-wild like this, god, I can’t--”

Tony choked off a scream and came, untouched, squeezing Bucky so hard it was nearly painful. Bucky moaned and cursed and followed after, his climax bursting through him like a white-hot explosion.

Afterward, spooned together and sliding into a sleepy drowse, Bucky nosed at the back of Tony’s neck and said, “So that’s a thing, hm?”

“Guess so,” Tony replied. “Okay?”

“ _Very_ okay.”

***

The third time was very much planned.

Tony couldn’t deny the nervous twist in his gut as he undressed, the flutter of butterflies that was as much apprehension as anticipation. Bucky was _strong_ , and the last time, Tony’d had trouble sitting for the whole next day.

Bucky had been remorseful, even though Tony had assured him it was well worth the discomfort. Still, faced with it again, Tony couldn’t help but quail a little.

“Hey, doll,” Bucky purred, coming up behind Tony and wrapping his arms around Tony’s waist. “You all right?”

“Always.” Tony leaned back into Bucky’s embrace.

“Yeah, sure,” Bucky said, which was what he said when he knew Tony was bullshitting. He nuzzled at the curve of Tony’s neck, nipping lightly at the tendon. “You know if it’s too much, you can just say stop, yeah?”

“Of course.”

“Good.” Bucky’s hands moved to Tony’s hips and started pushing  him gently toward the bed. “Because I’ve been looking forward to this since we talked about it. I’m going to blister your cute tush until you’re cryin’ for it. I wanna see if you can come just from bein’ spanked, ‘n’ then I’m gonna fuck your pretty hole until you see stars.”

“Fuck, I might come just from you talking dirty to me,” Tony groaned.

Bucky grinned. “Something to try another time. For now, be a good boy and bend over for me.”

“Isn’t being a good boy antithetical to the whole spanking fantasy?” Tony asked, but he obeyed anyway, folding over on the edge of the bed and pillowing his head on folded arms.

“Maybe sometimes,” Bucky hummed, running a possessive hand down Tony’s back and flank. “But this time, I’m spankin’ you ‘cause you _want_ it. Don’t you, sweet thing?”

“God, yes,” Tony sighed.

“There you go, then.” Bucky leaned over Tony’s back and kissed his way down Tony’s spine, right to the very base, which was weirdly sensitive and just slightly ticklish, and made Tony rise up on his toes when Bucky’s scruffy chin scraped over it. “Shh, just relax, tiger,” Bucky crooned. He stepped away and Tony tensed, ready for it.

Nothing happened, and Tony started to relax again-- _pop!_ Tony rocked forward belatedly. “Fuck!” he cursed, more from the surprise than the pain; it hadn’t really been that hard of an impact.

Bucky didn’t say anything, though, just hummed and smacked Tony again on the opposite side. He paused for a moment, running his fingertips lightly over those two spots. “You look good with a couple’a handprints on you.”

“Only if they’re yours,” Tony said.

“Well, yeah, that goes without saying.” Bucky cupped Tony’s ass in his hands and squeezed gently. The spots where he’d spanked Tony were tingling a little, but that was already beginning to fade.

Tony wiggled his butt at Bucky. “Come on, buttercup, time’s a-wasting.”

“You got somewhere important you need to be in the next little bit?” Bucky wondered. “I’m enjoying myself, here.” Despite that, he gave Tony another few easy swats.

Tony’s cock jumped and hardened at the sting. “Oh, god, yeah,” Tony sighed.

Bucky chuckled and smacked Tony’s rear again, a little harder.

“Nn, don’t go easy on me,” Tony complained.

“I’m not. I did some readin’,” Bucky said, punctuating himself with a blow right to the bottom of Tony’s ass, where it was most sensitive. “Talked about workin’ up to the really strong stuff. Says you can take more that way.” He licked at Tony’s heating backside. “An’ I want you to be able to take it all.”

He kneaded at the warm and tingling skin. “What’d’ya think, doll? Ready to step it up?”

“God, yes,” Tony groaned. “Please.”

The next swat was barely harder than the previous set, but it was enough to make Tony hiss, “Yesss.” Bucky set up a rhythm this time, and didn’t stop until Tony was groaning with each strike, somewhere between pained and excruciatingly turned on.

“You doin’ okay, sugar?”

“Fuck yes,” Tony gasped out, half-sobbing. “ _Please._ ” His hips pumped without his thinking about it, seeking friction for his throbbing cock, cool relief for his aching ass.

“Little bit more,” Bucky said, sliding a proprietary hand over Tony’s rear. “Gonna make you red enough to match your armor, get you all raw and sensitive so you’ll feel it when I fuck you.”

Tony whined, and then yelped as Bucky’s hand connected again, even harder than before. Bucky kept going in a slow, steady rhythm, and each blow seemed to drive a spike of pleasure straight up his cock even as the pain radiated down through his legs. “Oh fuck,” Tony groaned. “Bucky, _please_...”

“I gotcha, baby.” Bucky promised. He paused, and then his fingers were covered with lube, working into Tony’s hole. The lube was cool and soothing where it dripped on his skin. “God damn, dollbaby,” he marveled, “you’re always hot, but now you’re burnin’ up.” He pushed two fingers in, just on the right side of too rough, and each tug and thrust was a blissful agony on Tony’s abused rear. A third finger.

“Ohgod,” Tony gasped, “God, Bucky, I need you _now_.”

“Yeah, doll,” Bucky agreed. The fingers were gone, then, and Tony whined at the loss until he felt Bucky’s cock pressing against his entrance. Bucky’s hands spread over Tony’s ass and he sobbed at the way Bucky’s calluses scraped at his raw skin. It hurt in the best possible way.

Then Bucky was pushing in, a long, slow slide that made Tony’s knees feel weak. “You feel so good,” Bucky moaned. “Tony, _Tony_ , what you do to me...”

He gave Tony a few moments to adjust, but then set up a near-brutal pace, practically slamming home with each thrust, his body slapping against Tony’s in a way that made Tony gasp and shake with perfect pain.

“Come for me,” Bucky panted. “Want to feel you coming, want to know I did that for you, sugar, that I made you feel good.”

Tony dropped his head onto his arms. “You always make me feel good.”

“That’s right,” Bucky crooned. “Come for me, babydoll. You’re so damn hot and tight, I can’t stand it. So good, so perfect, I just gotta...” _Crack!_ Bucky smacked Tony’s ass again. It felt like tipping the last domino in the line of his arousal, a cascade of heat and pressure that started where Bucky had spanked and boiled up through his balls and cock until he was shouting with the force of his orgasm.

“Oh _Christ_ ,” Bucky swore, and his hands grabbed at Tony’s hips. A dozen more rough thrusts and Bucky’s breath hitched and he pushed home, his cock pulsing as he climaxed.

Bucky collapsed forward across Tony’s back, panting. “God, Tony,” he gasped. “God, I love you.”

“Love you too, sweetheart.” Tony sighed happily and reached up and back to curl his fingers in Bucky’s hair. “If that’s what I get for being good, I can’t wait to find out what I get for being _bad_.”

 


	12. Unmatched Set

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Square Filled: T3 - Bucky Barnes Winter Soldier  
> Rating: T  
> Warnings: None  
> Summary: Bucky lost his Mark in the fall, and Tony lost his in Afghanistan. That means they’ll never meet their fated match. But maybe that’s okay.

Bucky’s Mark was on his left arm, about halfway between shoulder and elbow. Like all nascent Marks, it was a colorless gray blur, but he liked to stand in the bathroom and stare at it in the mirror, imagining it forming crisp lines and bursting into color.

By the time he was old enough to know what Marks meant, he was more than a little offended that he and Steve didn’t have matching Marks. They were together to the end of the line, after all -- you couldn’t get much better matched than that.

But the Mark on Bucky’s shoulder and the one over Steve’s heart both remained stubbornly gray and shapeless, even when Bucky tried to give them a nudge by dipping Steve into a kiss. It hadn’t worked, and things had been awkward between them for a few days afterward.

Bucky danced with every girl who’d say yes when he asked, and more than a few boys, but none of them filled in his Mark, either. Bucky decided it was because they were all too ready to write Steve off as a stoop-shouldered hanger-on, and Bucky couldn’t possibly match up with someone who’d think so little of Steve.

He was still unmatched when he went away to war, and it troubled him some, to think there was a girl (or boy) he was leaving behind who’d never get to meet him. But he put on a brave face about it. “Just think,” he told Steve the night before he shipped out, “maybe there’s a pretty French or Italian girl out there just waiting for me to match her Mark!”

The next time he saw Steve was in a makeshift laboratory in a Hydra base in Azzano, and they had heavier concerns than their Marks. Bucky was almost grateful that he hadn’t found a match yet, because if he had, they’d be chained to his brokenness, the way he couldn’t sleep, the way his dreams, when he dozed, were full of blood and fear, the way he shook and shivered constantly. He was a poor match for anyone, and he stopped seeking out pretty girls and handsome boys, hiding in Steve’s newly-long shadow.

He had time, as he fell from the train in the Swiss Alps, to oscillate between relief that he wasn’t leaving a match behind to mourn him, and regret that he’d never gotten to meet his match.

***

Tony’s Mark came in late, not until he was almost four years old, not until Howard had already written him off as a soulless freak.

Howard hadn’t gone quite so far as to refuse to have anything to do with his only son, but he’d made it clear that he didn’t expect the boy would ever amount to much of anything.

Tony already knew by the time he was four that his father expected everything and nothing from him, and he carried that weight like a cold burden in his chest. Which was why he didn’t really notice his Mark forming; the gray cloud in the center of his chest looked like his father’s disappointment felt, and to his four-year-old mind, it seemed entirely logical that it should be there.

By then, he was well accustomed to taking care of himself most of the time, and so it was a matter of weeks or perhaps even months before his mother came in to see him properly dressed for a formal occasion and was arrested by the sight of it. “Your Mark has finally come!” she exclaimed, and immediately burst into tears.

Tony felt colder than ever, thinking she was disappointed in him as well, until she finally calmed down enough to explain to him that it was a _good_ thing.

Tony held his Mark close, after that. It was his and his alone, the promise of a match who would love him for who he was, not to be swayed by money or power or any other consideration. He pressed his hand to it when he was sad, tapped at the spot when he was deep in thought.

Rhodey knew him for who he was and loved him anyway, and Tony thought it was grossly unfair that they weren’t a match. “How do we know the Marks are even telling the truth?” Tony demanded. “How do we know they’re giving us our _best_ match instead of simply a _good enough_ one?” He couldn’t imagine loving anyone else as much as he loved Rhodey, even if Rhodey was tragically straight.

He and Rhodey were so close, so perfectly attuned even after they’d finished college and parted ways, that Tony found himself checking his Mark after their every meeting. Just to be sure.

And then the world exploded on a rocky road in Afghanistan. Tony’s last thought before he blacked out from pain and bloodloss was to wonder if there was someone out there who would remain forever matchless, because of him.

***

Bucky didn’t move when Tony pulled out of the kiss. He remained stock-still, eyes still closed and lips just barely parted, his chin tipped ever so slightly upward. “Tony...” he breathed, and when his eyes finally opened, he looked... sad.

“What is it?” Tony demanded. Because Bucky wanted this as much as he did, he _knew_ it, there was no misreading the heavy-lidded looks Bucky had been giving him or the way Bucky had matched the movement when Tony leaned in. “What’s wrong?”

“Doll, I’m... I can’t. You don’t want me. I don’t have a Mark.” Bucky met Tony’s eyes squarely as he said it, unflinching. His hand came up to fold over his metal arm protectively, just under where the Russians had painted a red star. “Not anymore.”

“Me either,” Tony said, and thumped meditatively at his arc reactor. “Don’t care. Want you anyway. And I think you want me, too. Am I wrong?”

Bucky shook his head. He reached out slowly, tentatively, but Tony didn’t stop him from putting his hand over Tony’s arc reactor. “You lost your Mark, too.” He spread his fingers, looking at the pale glow of the reactor between them. His eyes stuttered up to Tony’s, and slowly, his mouth curved into a smile.

Tony put his hand over Bucky’s. He leaned in again, let his lips brush Bucky’s lightly. “Want to give that another try?”

Bucky’s hand slid upward until it was curled around the back of Tony’s neck, and then Bucky kissed him, slow and deep and thorough. “Who’s to say we’re _not_ a match?” he said when they broke apart.

“Who, indeed?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy cow, I haven't posted anything for this bingo since AUGUST. Which is just weird, because I have lots more actually WRITTEN. Expect to see lots more over the next couple of weeks!


	13. And Put up a Parking Lot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Name of Piece: And put up a Parking Lot  
> Square Filled: A3 - FREE  
> Rating: G  
> Warnings: None  
> Summary: The Guardians of Galaxy Park need the crew’s help keeping their favorite park from being turned into a parking garage. (a Leverage AU)

“Okay, start at the beginning,” Steve said.

Their clients, Peter and Gamora, looked doubtful. Tony couldn’t blame them too much for that; Steve wasn’t quite five and a half feet tall and was so thin he looked like he’d blow away in a stiff breeze. Tony was somewhat bigger but still not exactly imposing. The only really impressive-looking member of their little team was Bucky. But Bucky didn’t like to talk much, which left clients thinking he was dumb muscle. Muscle, yes. Dumb -- not at all.

“I know we’re your last resort,” Tony pointed out. “You might as well give us a try.”

Peter and Gamora looked at each other, and then Peter started talking. “Are you familiar with Galaxy Park, downtown? We’re the guardians and caretakers.”

“Isn’t that the one with that huge oak tree in the middle?” Steve said. “The one you can see for blocks, with the tame raccoon living in it?”

Tony looked at him, eyebrow raised, and Steve shrugged. “I like parks.”

“That’s the one,” Gamora said. “But it’s a groot tree, not an oak. They’re very rare -- ours is the only one in the city. It was transplanted to our park a year ago from a new housing development. We thought it was dying, but it seemed to be making a comeback.”

“But now the city wants to tear down the whole park,” Peter said. “They want to build a parking garage or something.”

Gamora nodded. “We appealed it on the grounds that groots are so rare, started the paperwork to declare us a preserve. But they’re stalling on the paperwork and now the groot is ailing again. If it dies before the paperwork goes through, then they won’t approve it at all. We don’t have anywhere else to turn. We just need time, so we can nurse the groot back to health.”

Steve glanced at Tony. Tony nodded, and Steve looked back at the guardians. “We’ll see what we can do.”

Tony grinned. “Let’s go steal a park!”

***

It was a nice enough park, Tony supposed. There was a walking path and a playground, and what looked like an open-air stage for concerts and shows. Best of all, there was a coffee shop in the building just across the street with open wifi that Tony could reach from a park bench.

Bucky jogged back across the street to hand Tony his coffee. “The building is owned by Hydra,” he said.

“The real estate company that sneakily bought up the whole district a couple of years back?” Steve wondered. “I thought they’d been forced to give up their monopoly.”

Tony tapped his computer screen. “Public records say the building is owned by Shield.”

“It’s Hydra,” Bucky said certainly. “They have a very distinctive decor.”

Tony flexed his wrists and released a crawler program, then sipped his coffee as he watched it sprout branches. “Now, this is interesting. It looks like Shield’s CEO sits on the Board of Directors for Hydra.” He glanced at Bucky. “Looks like you were right.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “I told you.”

“You think they’re the ones behind the park being shut down?” Steve wondered.

“I think I need to break into the city financial records and find out where the money trail leads,” Tony said. “Come on, let’s go home. I’m not doing this on public wifi.”

***

It only took a couple of hours to slip JARVIS into the city financial records and untangle the shell corporations and subsidiaries to confirm that it was, indeed, Hydra trying to buy the park.

Hacking into Hydra’s server was even easier, but there was nothing there that Tony could find about the park. “Why would they be sinking so much money into a single small park?” Tony wondered.

“I don’t know, but I bet we can find out if we get into their offices,” Steve said.

“Steve, no,” Bucky complained. “Hydra’s security is top-notch!”

“Steve yes!” Steve said, grinning. “Come on, I haven’t done a B&E for _ages_.”

“You broke into that museum just last month,” Tony pointed out.

“Like I said, ages!”

Tony sighed and looked at Bucky. “I don’t have any better ideas,” he said. “You?”

Bucky scowled. “Fine. We’ll need a distraction.”

Tony cracked his knuckles. “One protest, coming up!”

***

“We are Groot! We are Groot! We are Groot!”

“How the hell did you get this many people to show up for a protest on two days’ notice?” Bucky asked.

“It’s all in posting to the right messageboards,” Tony said. He wasn’t smug. Well, not much. No more than he deserved, anyway. He nudged Steve. “Ready to go do your thing?”

“Yep!” Steve patted his belt, which concealed his lightweight climbing line.

Tony handed over the specially-prepared phone and cable. “If they have a local server that’s not wifi accessible, it’ll be on the fourth or fifth floor, where the floorplans were labeled ‘archives’. Find a rack and plug this in, and it’ll do everything from there,” he instructed. “If they’re still committing the sin of paper copies, take pictures, and this will send everything straight to JARVIS.”

“Got it.” Steve tucked the phone and cable into his shirt.

“If they’ve got a local server bank, it’s on the fourth or fifth floor.”

“And keep your earpiece in, in case you run into trouble!” Bucky added.

“I’m not going to run into any trouble.” Steve rolled his eyes, but then he was gone, slipping through the crowds of protesters and the hapless Shield-slash-Hydra employees who’d come out to watch and heckle toward the coffee shop and leaving Tony and Bucky to blend in.

“We are Groot! We are Groot!”

***

“Uh. Tony?”

Tony lifted his cellphone to his ear so he wouldn’t look like he was talking to thin air. “Steve?”

“I might have run into some trouble.” Steve was whispering, which made him hard to hear.

“What happened?” Bucky materialized at Tony’s elbow, looking both worried and determined, ready to punch his way in to rescue Steve.

“You were right about the local servers. I got the phone plugged in, but then someone came in! And they’re not leaving. It looks like they’re settling in for some kind of maintenance on all the machines.”

“Fuck. Where are you?”

“In the ceiling.”

“Okay, let me get out of the middle of this crowd and I’ll talk you through an exit.”

Bucky started pushing a path through the crowd, letting Tony follow in his wake, because Bucky was the best.

“Tony.” Steve’s whisper was full of tension.

“What?”

“The phone is still plugged into the server.”

“ _Fuck_.” Tony pushed his free hand through his hair. “Have they noticed it yet?”

“No.”

“Good. There’s no way to trace it -- I promise, they won’t break JARVIS’ encryption -- so just leave it. Hopefully they’ll keep on not noticing it.”

Finally, they reached the edge of the crowd, thankfully close to the coffee shop, which was doing a booming business. “Okay, Bucky, go get me a coffee while I deal with this?” He met Bucky’s eyes as he said it, one eyebrow quirked.

Bucky snorted in response and stomped toward the coffee shop without answering. He’d gotten the message, though; he would be ready to charge in for Steve if things went to shit. Tony pulled up the Hydra building’s floor plans. “Okay, Steve, now, you need to make your way to the northwest corner of the building. There should be an HVAC duct there. Have you got a screwdriver on you?”

Carefully, Tony talked Steve through the building. It seemed to take forever and set Tony’s nerves jangling, especially when Steve ran into a wall that wasn’t on the listed floorplan, and again when he was nearly discovered. But finally, _finally_ , Tony managed to get Steve into the basement of the building.

“Okay, from there, you’ve got a couple of choices,” Tony said. “There’s a keypad-protected elevator, or stairs to the southeast side of the building that should go up into the alley. Though that might be padlocked from the outside.”

“What’s glyphosate?” Steve asked.

“What?”

“There are these big barrels of stuff down here labeled ‘glyphosate’.”

“It’s a weedkiller,” Tony said. “Possibly cancerous, try not to breathe the fumes.”

“Little late for that,” Steve said. “This whole basement reeks. Why would they need barrels of weedkiller?”

A brief pause, and then they both said in unison, “The tree.”

***

The protestors had done a good job of cleaning up their trash, but they’d still left the grass all over the park trampled and crushed. Tony wriggled in his seat in the tree, trying to get blood to flow back into his ass. He wished he were safe at home with Steve. Or apparently impervious to a numb ass, like Bucky.

“Shh, they’re coming,” Bucky whispered. He was higher in the tree, acting as lookout. “Don’t let them see you.”

“They’ll just assume I’m Rocket,” Tony whispered back, but then he shut up, because however tame the park’s raccoon was, it didn’t _talk_.

There were six of them, big guys, all. Two of them carried a barrel between them, and the other four looked all around, like bodyguards. They didn’t think to look _up_ , though, thank Tesla.

“I don’t see nobody,” one of them said. “C’mon, let’s get this done so we can go home.”

“You got somethin’ important t’be doin’, Joe?”

They continued to bicker, even as they fed a hose into the barrel. “Oughtta just fill up th’ damn ‘coon’s hole an’ be done with it,” one of them griped.

“Dumbass,” Joe said. “It’s gotta be slow, so nobody don’t suspect nothin’.”

“Bullshit it does,” the dumbass said. “Lotsa plants just up an’ die overnight for no good reason.”

“Not trees,” said a third. “Not when they’re this big. Shut up and do your damn job. And the rest of you, keep your eyes open. Whoever broke into the server room probably knows we’ll be out here.”

Tony lifted his phone and framed the shot carefully; he’d only get one. Sure enough, as soon as the flash went off, all six guys leapt into action.

“What the-- You sonovabitch!” One of the guys actually jumped up to snare a tree branch, and started climbing.

Bucky fell past Tony in utter silence, landing on the climbing guy and knocking him to the ground. Bucky rolled as they hit the ground and came up with his fists raised and a wild grin on his face. “Who’s next?”

Tony didn’t bother coming down out of the tree; he just stayed put and enjoyed watching Bucky kicking the shit out of the Hydra goons.

“You could--” Bucky grunted as one of them got a punch through to his gut, then returned the favor with interest. “--could help, you know.”

“And deprive you of your fun?” Tony took another photo, this time for the team scrapbook.

“I ain’t Steve,” Bucky protested. He ducked and threw a goon over his shoulder. “I don’t like gettin’ punched.”

“It’s a good thing you’re better at blocking than Steve, then,” Tony said. “Whoops.” While Bucky had been busy holding off two guys at once, a third had decided to come take care of Tony. Tony stood up and scrambled a little higher into the tree.

“Oh, no you don’t,” Bucky growled, and yanked the guy back down.

Even with six of them, it didn’t take Bucky long to put them down. Once Tony was sure it was safe, he made his way back down to the ground. He took close-up pictures of the goons’ faces and the barrel with its siphon. “Okay, I’ve got what I came for,” he said.

“I lied,” Bucky said as they made their way across the grass to the guardians’ office.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. That _was_ kind of fun.”

***

Tony sat in the coffee shop, watching through the window as Gamora mounted the new “Galaxy Nature Preserve” sign at the park’s main entrance.

“Hydra’s going to try something else to get to the property,” Steve pointed out from behind him.

“Probably,” Tony agreed. He examined the personnel profiles on his laptop screen. There was something satisfying about doing this using Hydra’s own wifi.

“You’ve got a plan?” Steve dropped into the chair across from Tony, partially blocking his view of the park.

“I’ve got twelve percent of a plan,” Tony said. He tapped at his screen. “It starts with this guy.”

“Nicholas Fury,” Bucky read over Tony’s shoulder. He put down Tony’s black coffee, and handed an iced cappuccino across the table to Steve before taking his own seat. “Who is he?”

“He’s the only member of Shield’s board of directors that doesn’t have any ties to Hydra that I can find,” Tony said. “In fact, he’s been vocal about disliking Hydra’s tactics in the past. I think we can count on him to help us out. The broad shape of the plan is to replace the current board with people who are more trustworthy.”

“Dirty as Hydra is,” Bucky mused, “there’s got to be something we can sink our hooks into.”

Steve grinned over the rim of his drink. “Well then,” he said, “let’s go steal a board of directors.”


	14. The Bliss of Ignorance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Square Filled: R3 - didn’t know they were dating  
> Rating: T  
> Warnings: None  
> Summary: Bucky and Tony are friends. It only makes sense they’d do nice things for each other. But there’s nothing between them. Really.

 

Bucky was playing paper football with Clint when Tony pushed into the coffee shop, arms laden with thick books, as usual. Bucky felt a warm little spurt of fondness. Of all the friends Steve had made while Bucky was deployed overseas, Tony was his favorite. Bucky waved, then dragged over a chair from another table.

“That stack must weigh almost as much as you,” he said as Tony dropped the books on the table with a relieved sigh.

“Just about,” Tony agreed. “But they don’t have ebook versions, so...” He shrugged. “It’s okay, I only need them for a few days.”

“ _Mechanical Engineering and Robotics_ ,” Steve read off the spines. “ _Fundamentals of Robotics Design_. Tony, what the heck? You took Fundamentals three semesters ago.”

“Yeah, but I thought I should brush up.” He grinned and bounced in his seat with barely-suppressed excitement. “I got that internship with Fujikawa!”

“What! Tony, that’s fantastic!” Bucky said, amidst the others’ congratulations. “You’re gonna blow ‘em away.”

“I hope so,” Tony said. “I mean, it’s just an internship, I know I won’t be actually working on design or anything, but--”

“They’ll be lucky to have you,” Bucky promised.

“Thanks.” Tony opened one of the books and took out a small stack of pages held together with a paperclip. “Of course, now I’ve got to fill in all this new hire paperwork. Anyone got a pen I can borrow?”

Natasha had one, because she was prepared for everything, always.

Bucky and Clint went back to their game while Tony muttered over the forms he was filling out and Steve and Nat bickered good-naturedly about whose turn it was to decide where their next date would be.

“Oh, dammit,” Tony sighed. “They want an emergency contact number. There’s no way I’m putting my parents on here.”

Tony’s wealthy father had cut Tony off after they’d fought over what Tony should major in, among other things. In defiance, Tony had gotten loans and was finishing up his degree on his own terms. Bucky was ridiculously proud of him. “Put me down, doll,” Bucky suggested.

“Really?”

“Sure,” Bucky said. “I’m mostly on night shift anyway, so I’ll be around when you blow something up.”

Tony huffed, but wrote Bucky’s name and number on the form. “Robotics doesn’t really involve a lot of explosions,” he said. “More’s the pity.”

“Okay, so when you accidentally create an evil robot that’s bent on destroying the world,” Bucky amended. Tony laughed, and Bucky ruffled his hair.

***

Tony pushed open the door to Bucky’s apartment. Bucky had given him a key when it had come up that Bucky’s apartment was closer to the Fujikawa office than the fourth-floor walkup that Tony split with Clint and Pietro. “That way you’ve got a place to stash your books an’ stuff so you don’t gotta lug ‘em all that way,” Bucky had said.

It was handy; Tony kept a couple of changes of clothes at Bucky’s, too, in case he had to work late and crash on Bucky’s couch. And Bucky had given him space in the fridge, too, so Tony could eat dinner there before taking the subway back to his own apartment. They often ate together, in fact -- Tony’s dinner was Bucky’s breakfast.

Bucky was in the kitchen already when Tony came in, humming tunelessly as he made a mess of the eggs in his frying pan. He looked up with a bright smile when Tony came in. “Heya, dollface! Good day?”

“Yeah, actually,” Tony said. “I found a little flaw in the design I was proofreading, and my boss said I probably saved the company a couple of months on the project and a shit-ton of money.”

“That’s great!” Bucky said. He threw his arm around Tony’s shoulders and squeezed him in a quick hug before going back to his eggs. “We should go out to celebrate.”

“Speaking of celebration,” Tony said, “your birthday is coming up. You going to let me plan a party?”

“What? You don’t gotta go to any trouble for me,” Bucky said.

Tony glared at him. “It’s not trouble if I _want_ to do it. C’mon, it’s the first birthday you’ve had since you came back stateside. Let us take you out and have some fun!”

Bucky made a face like he was going to argue, and Tony turned on the pout. Bucky could never resist Tony’s pout.

“Fine, okay,” Bucky sighed. His mouth twitched like he was trying to suppress a smile. “Nothin’ too crazy, though, okay? It’s just a birthday, don’t really mean nothin’.”

“I promise,” Tony lied cheerfully, and whipped out his phone. “Cancelling the hunky male strippers now.”

Bucky laughed. “Nah, you might as well keep those,” he said. “Makin’ Stevie blush is the best present you could give me, anyway.”

(“Oh my _god_ ,” Bucky said, three weeks later. “I thought you were _kidding_ about the strippers!”

“Buck, I _never_ kid about strippers,” Tony said solemnly. He’d had to badger Clint and Bruce and Natasha into helping him pay for it, but it was totally worth it for the way Bucky’s eyes had bugged out and the blush that climbed up out of Bucky’s collar.

“Best birthday ever.”)

***

Steve and Natasha were completely disgusting together pretty much all the time, but for Valentine’s Day, they took it to new heights. “Ug, get a _room_ ,” Bucky complained.

“Or,” Clint suggested with a practiced leer, “put on a show.”

“You have a boyfriend,” Bucky reminded him.

“It’s okay, I’ll film it for him.” Clint thumbed on his phone and turned on the photo app.

“Gross. Stevie, what the hell happened to the _evils of the industrial marketing complex_ , huh?”

Steve managed to tear his gaze away from Natasha. “I guess when you’re this much in love, you’ll take any excuse to show it.”

“Oh _gag_ me,” Bucky whined.

“Kinky,” said Tony in his ear. “We haven’t even gotten to third base yet.”

“Jesus!” Bucky jumped. “Where’d you come from?”

“Just got here.” Tony dragged out a chair and dropped into it, then tossed a package into Bucky’s lap.

“What’s this?” Bucky picked the box up and turned it over.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Tony said. “The bodega on Seventh already has their chocolate on post-holiday markdown.”

“Nice!” If Bucky was going to have to watch his paired-off friends being all sappy and cute with each other all day while Bucky was single, it was nice to have consolation chocolate to go with it. “But don’t think this means I’m putting out.”

***

“What about this one?”

Bucky leaned over Tony’s shoulder to read the Craigslist ad. “I dunno, this guy sounds like a creeper.”

“They _all_ sound like creepers,” Tony pointed out. “It’s a roommate-wanted ad.”

Bucky chewed on his lip. He could appreciate Tony wanting to move out of Clint and Pietro’s apartment to give the two their privacy, but he didn’t like the idea of Tony living with a stranger. Especially not with the creeps and drug dealers that seemed to be all Tony was finding on Craigslist.

Fuck it. “You could always move in with me,” he said. Bucky’s apartment was small, but he had it to himself.

Tony gave him a wide-eyed look. “I already impose on you enough.”

“Nah. Half your stuff is at my place anyway, you might as well just bring the rest.”

Tony rubbed at the spot on his chest that meant he was considering it. “You’re sure?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said. “I don’t want to go back to night shift, but losing the pay differential kinda sucked. Little help with the rent and bills would be nice, honestly.”

“I’m graduating next semester,” Tony reminded him. “Once I get a real job, I can help out a lot more.”

“Bet Fujikawa’s gonna snap you right up,” Bucky said. “They keep re-upping your internship. They know you’re a keeper.”

“Okay,” Tony said. “Yeah, we can make that work. I bet Clint and Piet will be relieved to have the place to themselves, finally.”

“Everyone wins,” Bucky agreed.

***

Tony heard the door open, but didn’t look up from his homework. “Welcome home, snugglebug.”

“Hey there, shmoopsie,” Bucky shot back. The ridiculous pet names had started as mockery of Steve and Nat, and then turned into their own private joke. “Anything interesting happen today?”

“Rhodey nearly had a nervous breakdown in the computer lab when the printer ran out of paper and the IT guy said they wouldn’t be around to refill it until tomorrow,” Tony reported. “But I told him I’d print his paper here and drop it off when we meet up for drinks later. That okay?”

“As long as it’s not a hundred-pager,” Bucky agreed.

“Nah, just twelve.”

“No worries, then.”

“Oh, and we got our invitation to Steve and Nat’s wedding in the mail,” Tony said. He pointed at the table that was more of a dumping ground than a useful surface. “Singular invitation. One of them, for both of us.”

Bucky snorted as he picked it up and turned it over. “Fancy,” he commented. “What, no ‘and Guest’ for either of us?”

“Steve did say they were trying to keep it small and intimate,” Tony pointed out. “If either of us were dating anyone, they’d already know about it.”

“They didn’t have to send us an invitation at all,” Bucky said. “Seeing as we’re both in the wedding party.”

“I think that’s just so we can mark our dinner preference,” Tony said. He squinted at his homework, erased a line of math, and reworked it.

“Oh, yeah, here’s the card. Oh, you already filled it out for us. How’d you know I’d want the chicken?”

“Because you only like steak if it’s still bleeding, and there’s no way to get real rare steak from a catering venue.”

“You know me so well.” Bucky messed up Tony’s hair on his way past. “Guess you’ll be an okay date.”

“I hope I catch the bouquet,” Tony quipped. “Then you’ll _have_ to marry me.”

***

Bucky snared Steve’s elbow and drew him aside. “Stevie. I hate to be a wet blanket at your own rehearsal dinner, but...”

“What’s wrong, Buck?”

“The room you got for me an’ Tony... Look, I’m _super_ grateful to you guys for putting us up, but there was some kind of mix-up with the hotel, an’ they said they can’t change it without your say-so ‘cause it’s on your credit card.”

“Oh.” Steve looked relieved. “Is that all? We can swing by the front desk and do that. What’s wrong with the room?”

“It’s only got one bed.”

Steve hesitated. “That’s... that’s a problem?”

“What do you-- of _course_ it’s a problem!”

“Sorry, Buck,” Steve said, his eyes wide. “I didn’t know. You guys have been together so long, I just assumed--”

“Wait,” Bucky said. “Wait wait wait. What do you mean, together? You mean _Tony and me_? Like, _together_ , together?”

“Well... yeah?” Steve blinked. “Aren’t you?”

“Of course we’re not!”

“What do you mean, ‘of course’? You an’ Tony have been living in each other’s pockets for like... two _years_ now. He moved in with you!”

“That’s no different than when he was livin’ with Clint and Pietro! It ain’t like we’re suckin’ face everywhere!”

“We just figured you weren’t all that demonstrative in public. Besides, you flirt with each other all the time,” added Steve.

“It’s a _joke_.”

Steve put his hand on Bucky’s shoulder and looked at him gravely. “Is it?”

Bucky’s mouth fell open, but no protest came out. Over Steve’s shoulder, Bucky could see Tony, laughing as he thumb-wrestled with Pietro over the last slice of bread. Bucky caught himself smiling fondly, and Steve patted his shoulder. “Maybe not as much of a joke as you think, pal,” Steve said. The jerk.

“I’ll... get back to you on that room thing,” Bucky said, unable to tear his eyes away from Tony.

“You do that, Buck.” And Steve was gone.

Shit. _Shit_. How had he never realized... All their friends thought they were dating? Had been, for... for _years_.

And sure, they lived together. They went everywhere together, but that was just convenience. It was nice, having company when you were out running errands. It was good sense not to wander the city alone, too, especially when you’d been out having a good time.

And okay, neither of them had gone on any dates in the last couple of years, either, but that was because Tony was focused on his studies and his internship and Bucky was...

Was...

Oh, _fuck_ , was he in love with Tony?

How long had _that_ been going on?

***

“No dice with the room?” Tony asked when Bucky came back to the table. It was fine, Tony had figured there was a possibility that the hotel’s double bed rooms had already been booked. They could share a bed for two nights; it wouldn’t be that much of an imposition.

“Uh. There’s sort of a... thing,” Bucky said. He looked a little pale.

“Hey, you okay?”

“What? Yeah. Yeah, I’m just...” Bucky looked up and down the table, then took a deep breath, as if steeling himself for something. “Come an’ take a little walk with me?”

“Sure,” Tony said, pushing his chair back. “You sure you’re all right?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, leading Tony away from the noise and down a side hall. “I just... Um.” When the rehearsal party was out of sight and almost out of earshot, Bucky stopped and leaned against the wall. “So... the reason we got that room,” he said, eyes on the peeling wallpaper, “is ‘cause apparently everyone thinks we’re. Y’know. Together.”

Tony blinked. Then blinked again. “You mean _together_ , together?”

Bucky huffed out a little laugh. “That’s ‘xactly what I said.”

“Oh my god,” Tony said. “Why the hell would they--” Except it made perfect sense, didn’t it, if you were on the outside, looking in. Bucky and Tony spent all their time together. They flirted. They gave each other gifts. They spent their holidays together. They gave each other Valentine’s gifts and planned each other’s birthday parties. They were each other’s emergency contacts, for fuck’s sake. “Huh.”

“Yeah,” Bucky said.

Tony was beginning to understand why Bucky looked so poleaxed. It wasn’t like he’d never thought about it -- Bucky was one damned fine looking man, after all. But he’d never taken it seriously. Bucky was not just gorgeous but smart and brave and funny and kind, and Tony was lucky enough just being Bucky’s friend. But apparently their friends thought there was more there. And he couldn’t help but understand why. “We’ve been dating all this time, and didn’t realize it,” Tony said.

“I guess so.”

Bucky glanced up, and Tony was arrested by the look in Bucky’s eyes. Longing and hungry. Bucky’s eyes dropped, but only to Tony’s mouth and neck, and Bucky licked his lips, let his teeth drag over his bottom lip.

Oh. _Oh_. Bucky... _wanted_ that?

With Tony?

Tony’s breath hitched and Bucky’s eyes snapped back up to meet Tony’s gaze.

Tony swallowed. “It’s a nice bed,” he said cautiously.

Bucky nodded slowly. “Looked very nice. Big. Comfy. And it’d be a real hassle to make the hotel change our room now. It’s getting late, and all.”

“That’s true,” Tony agreed. “Maybe we should just keep it.”

“We _are_ here together,” Bucky pointed out. “The invitation said.”

“Hang on, I want to try something,” Tony said. Bucky stared at him, and Tony leaned in, felt the soft rush of air as Bucky sucked in a breath. “Yeah?”

Bucky nodded, and Tony leaned in a little closer to brush his lips against Bucky’s once, twice, a third time.

Then Bucky’s hand curled around Tony’s neck, fingers pushing through Tony’s hair, and pulled him in for another, deeper kiss. Tony’s stomach filled with butterflies and a rush of heat flooded Tony’s body. “Oh god,” he croaked.

Bucky reached for Tony’s hand, lacing their fingers together, then glanced at Tony shyly. “Okay? If they see? If they know?”

Tony grinned. “Honey, apparently we’re the only idiots who _didn’t_ know.” He squeezed Bucky’s hand tighter. “Come on, let’s go back to dinner and make everyone sick at how sappy we are.”

“Steve and Nat have it coming,” Bucky agreed. “And then after dinner...”

“After dinner,” Tony said, thrilling at the thought, “we’ll go back to our room and take advantage of that very nice bed.”


	15. A New Kind of Shield

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Square Filled: K3 - [image: CA:CW tony shooting at steve]  
> Rating: G  
> Warnings: Spoilers for Infinity War  
> Summary: What did happen to Cap’s shield after the Civil War?

The idea came to Tony in the middle of the fight in Siberia, which would be odd, except Tony always came up with his best ideas in the midst of crisis. He’d figured out how to miniaturize the arc reactor _and_ conceived the first Iron Man armor while being waterboarded in Afghanistan, after all.

So maybe it wasn’t so strange that Tony watched the way Cap’s shield had absorbed and scattered Tony’s repulsor blast in the midst of a fight and suddenly realized that vibranium alloy would be the _perfect_ material for the production of nanites.

And then Steve... left the shield. Just walked away from it. Tony hadn’t really expected that, even with his taunt.

It took Tony almost a month to finish healing from the damage Steve and Barnes had done to him, not to mention the frostbite from having been abandoned in that bunker with nonfunctional armor for most of a day. (Tony had been lucky that the bunker had still contained enough tools to let him repair the armor for a limping flight home.)

But he spent the whole month considering the logistics, and as soon as Helen had cleared him to go back to work, he’d contacted T’challa. Who put him in touch with Wakanda’s top expert in vibranium manipulation, who turned out to be T’challa’s bratty little sister.

Shuri was arrogant and condescending and reminded Tony of himself, at her age. He liked her immediately. Her reaction to his breakthrough about nanites could be boiled down to, “Duh, of course,” and then was immediately followed by about ten angles that Tony hadn’t considered yet, including ways to deal with issues and methods for boosting the necessary communication network. She hinted rather strongly that the Black Panther suit was of similar construction, but left the actual design work to Tony, which he appreciated.

Breaking the shield down was the most difficult part; once it had been worked, vibranium was notoriously stubborn about holding its shape. It was the reason the shield absorbed vibration as well as it did. Tony was grateful for Shuri’s advice about using sonic disruptors to weaken the intermolecular bonds and make the metal soft enough to work.

The gold-titanium alloy that Tony had used for most of his suits had been immensely strong, but the new suit made them all look like they’d been made out of play-doh. It was enormously strong, infinitely configurable, and fit into a deployment case that was only about twice the size of Tony’s first arc reactor and which doubled as a solar charger.

When Thanos came, Tony was grateful for the redesign. He’d never have lasted so long without it. Titan’s poor sunlight made it impossible to fully recharge the nanites, though, so in the end, Thanos wore them down, made them fragment and fall apart. There was barely enough left to seal the wound in his side.

Nothing at all that he could do to save Peter, or Stephen, or the Guardians. Only Nebula was left to bear witness to his pain. She didn’t really understand it -- she had spent her life trying to avoid caring for people, because whatever she loved, Thanos inevitably ripped away. But she understood his need for vengeance. And she knew how to pilot the Guardians’ ship.

By the time they made it back to Earth, they had passed by enough suns that Tony could recharge his nanites. Could form the suit up around him to keep his back straight despite the pain of his wounds.

Despite the pain of learning how many others had turned to ash. He clung feverishly to Rhodey, and they wept with relief -- and with loss. So many lost. Tony wept even for his enemies. Even for Barnes.

He was dry-eyed, though, when Steve approached.

“Shuri told me what you did with the old girl.”

“I won’t say I’m sorry,” Tony said. “It’s saved my life a dozen times over.”

“Then I won’t regret it,” said Steve. “I’m glad to know she’s still protecting you. And I know I can’t ask you to trust me.”

“Good, because I don’t,” Tony said. “But if we’re going to fix this thing, we’ll need to work together.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is closer to a headcanon than a fic, really.


	16. Confession is Good for the Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Square Filled: S4 - Peggy Carter  
> Rating: G  
> Warnings: None  
> Summary: Tony has something important to tell his godmother.

Peggy was waiting for him at the center of the garden, tea service all ready, a plate of her favorite biscuits on the tray. “Are those for me?” she asked, as soon as Tony came within hearing range.

“They are,” Tony agreed, handing over the bundle of flowers he was carrying, “though the gardeners have outdone themselves this year, so it hardly seems necessary.”

Peggy fixed him with a stern look. “Flowers are always necessary,” she chided. “No such thing as too many.”

“So I’ve been told,” Tony said. He bent to kiss her cheek, soft and papery with age. “I’m sorry I haven’t been to see you in a while.”

She huffed and waved him toward the waiting chair. “Yes, I’ve seen the news. You’ve been off gallivanting around the world.”

“Saving it, sometimes,” Tony protested. “Protecting it.”

“So busy you couldn’t stop in to visit your elderly, declining godmother.”

“Peggy--”

“Oh, I’m only teasing, Anthony. No need to put on those eyes for me. Save it for the bedroom.”

Tony coughed. “About that...”

“Yes?”

“I don’t know why I should tell you,” Tony teased in return. “You seem to think you already know everything.”

“But us old ladies, we love our gossip,” Peggy said. “Go on, tell me. You’re seeing someone new? Is it serious, or another one of your little flings?”

“I’d like to think it’s serious,” Tony said. He tapped at his arc reactor, then twisted his fingers nervously, a habit that hadn’t manifested since he was a young boy. “It’s, ah. Steve.”

“Steve? Steve who?” Peggy frowned at him, and Tony had a moment to think she’d been lost to another one of her episodes, but then her eyes widened. “ _My_ Steve?”

“Steve Rogers,” Tony agreed. “Uh. As it happens.”

“Well,” Peggy said. She sat back in her chair, then fussed over pouring the tea. Tony was comforted by the knowledge that she, too, needed a moment to gather herself. “Sugar, darling?”

“As much of it as I can get away with,” Tony said. He hated tea.

Peggy dropped in three lumps and stirred it, then handed the cup to him so carefully it almost didn’t rattle on the saucer. “Scandalous,” she murmured, though Tony honestly wasn’t sure whether she meant the amount of sugar in his tea or his -- very new -- relationship with Steve.

“Well,” she said after she’d taken a sip of her own tea (unsweetened, with just enough milk to make it cloudy). “I shouldn’t be surprised, not once I found out you were working together.”

Tony blinked at her. “You shouldn’t?”

“Of course not, darling. You’re just his type -- smart, smart-alec brunettes have always drawn his eye.” She patted her own hair, even though it was all white these days. “And he’s _your_ type, as well.”

“I don’t have a type,” Tony said. “I like them all -- blonde, red-head, brunette, whatever.”

“Perhaps, but you do like them clever, and you _definitely_ prefer the ones who won’t put up with your nonsense. Deep down, you know you need someone to keep you in line.” She smiled a little as she said it, though.

Tony laughed. “You really think _Steve ‘who needs a parachute anyway’ Rogers_ is going to keep me in line?”

Peggy tsked fondly. “Perhaps not,” she allowed. “But at least I’ll feel better, knowing the two of you are getting into trouble together. Now, you’re going to have a biscuit and tell me everything.”


	17. The Fixer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Square Filled: T4 - fix-it  
> Rating: G  
> Warnings: None  
> Summary: It had all gone wrong, but Tony could fix it.

Obie was dead. Obie was dead, and he was a traitor. He had betrayed Tony and the government, and he _deserved_ to be dead, but Tony couldn’t help but mourn the man who’d supported Tony in the wake of Howard and Maria’s deaths, who’d kept the company together while Tony finished school, who’d stood at Tony’s shoulder all these years.

And in the meantime, the weapons Obie had sold were still out there. Tony had failed, had been more interested in cars and booze and sex than in the workings of the company, and now there were weapons in the hands of terrorists with his name on them.

Tony took the battered and beaten armor into the workshop. He would fix it. And then he would fix the rest of it, too.

***

“JARVIS, what the hell is going on?”

“The proximity of the palladium to your heart is accelerating the rate of absorption into your bloodstream. You appear to be suffering from palladium poisoning, sir.”

Tony looked at the dark, jagged lines radiating out from around the arc reactor. “Okay. What’ve we got to stop it?”

“There is no known cure for palladium poisoning in my databanks,” JARVIS reported. “Analysis suggests that a chlorophyll solution will slow the absorption rate.”

“Okay, get on that for me. Have the medical department put together something I can use to keep an eye on my blood toxicity levels. And let’s start working on figuring out what we can replace the palladium with that won’t kill me.”

“Right away, sir.”

Tony could fix this. He was going to fix it.

***

“Put on the suit,” Captain America growled, and it scraped at Tony’s nerves, rubbed them raw until they ached with the need to punch this self-righteous asshole right in the face. Goddamn fucking _Steve Rogers--_

The explosion ripped into Tony’s thoughts. The helicarrier stuttered and dropped like a prop plane hitting the edge of a major pressure system. Tony staggered and fell as the massive carrier listed.

A hand on his elbow helped him back to his feet. Captain America met his eyes and the belligerence was gone, replaced with determination and protectiveness. _This_ was the Cap of Dad’s old stories. “Put on the suit.”

“Yep,” Tony said, already scrambling for the door.

It was just an engine. He could fix it.

***

“I think I need to sleep now,” JARVIS said, modulated voice stuttering.

“JARVIS? Don’t leave me, buddy.” The suit was dead weight without JARVIS to operate it. And more importantly, Tony was alone in the snow in the middle of Nowheresville, Tennessee. Tony was alone, with no way to protect Pepper, no way to avenge Happy, no way to track down the Mandarin, and the stars above him were terribly bright and close--

No. He couldn’t panic now, he had to find shelter. He had to let Pepper know he was still alive, he had to find some way to repair and recharge the suit.

That was a plan. He could do that. He could fix it.

***

All around him, the Avengers lay dead and dying. Above them, a Chitauri leviathan transport swam toward a portal. Toward Earth.

No. No, no, no--

“Tony.” It was barely audible. Tony threw himself to his knees, reached for Steve. “You could have saved us,” Steve gasped. “You could have... done more.”

Tony tried to find words to reply, to beg forgiveness -- but Steve was already gone.

Everything faded around him, then, and Tony realized it had been a vision. That didn’t mean it was a lie, though. Everything he cared for was going to be destroyed, if he didn’t do something. If he didn’t do _more_.

His eye fell on the scepter, and ideas bloomed behind his eyes.

He could save them. He could do more. The vision didn’t have to come to pass. He could fix it.

***

Fuck. _Fuck_. Natasha had turned on him. Barnes was innocent. And Steve and Barnes were in the wind, gone to who knew where.

Tony landed on the Raft and secured the helicopter to the landing pad. Things couldn’t be unrecoverable. They _couldn’t_.

Wilson was a hothead, but he’d see sense. He’d tell Tony where to find Steve and Barnes. How to help them. Once Tony knew what was going on, he’d know how to spin the situation to Ross. He’d know what to do.

He’d know how to fix it.

***

Tony had really screwed up this time. He’d given the kid too much power, too fast. It was his fault, really. Tony was flying this “mentoring” thing by the seat of his pants, and he’d ended up putting people in danger.

Not least, the kid himself. Peter’s attitude about responsibility was admirable, of course it was -- but he was only fifteen. There were limits to what a kid should be expected to do, even one with Peter’s unique talents.

And now people were in danger, because Peter couldn’t just sit back and let the FBI handle it. The whole ferry was coming apart, and at the end of the day, that was Tony’s fault.

That meant it was up to Tony to fix it.

***

Thanos had won.

Tony didn’t know how long he’d knelt there in the dust, weeping unashamedly. For the Guardians who’d fought so hard, for Strange and his nonsensical sacrifice, and for Peter, who’d been so brave and true, everything an Avenger should be. For Peter, most of all.

“We have to go,” said a voice, and Tony looked up.

The blue-skinned cyborg woman. Nebula. She was looking at him with those huge, unblinking eyes.

“We have to go,” she said again. “He’ll be back.”

Tony looked away, at the dust that was all that was left of his friends, already scattered and stirred by the wind. “You have a ship?”

“Yes.” She held out a hand, a startlingly human gesture for such an alien body.

Tony took it, and though she looked like the barest sylph of a girl, she lifted him without any strain at all. “I need to go back to Earth,” he said.

“Earth. You’re Terran. Like Quill.”

“Half of him, anyway.” Tony looked at the empty space where Quill had last stood. “I need to go back. My friends, my team--” They weren’t a team, not anymore, but for this, for this, Tony would put aside every lingering grudge. He would do whatever it took, pull whatever strings, spend his last penny, bargain whatever tatters remained of his soul.

He would do anything and everything, if it meant he could fix this.


	18. So Into You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Square Filled: A4 - writing format: perspective flip  
> Rating: M  
> Warnings: None  
> Summary: This is not what Bucky wanted. But it might just be what he needs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is Bucky’s POV for the events of square T1, [My Better Half](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14805401/chapters/34278335).

Bucky dragged his gaze away from Tony’s ass. He was the fucking Winter Soldier; he could manage to keep his attention on the mission for five goddamned minutes. Even if Tony Stark did have the most delectable ass known to mankind.

Mission. Right. They’d had a nice little fight with the villain and his henchmen, but that was over now, and they were on to the tedious chore of going through the villain’s hideout to remove all the traps and particularly nasty items before the SHIELD cleanup team came in behind them. Bucky needed to be alert – there was always the possibility of the building being booby-trapped, or that the villain had left behind a key minion or two to avenge him.

Bucky lifted his weapon to cover Steve and Sam as they ducked into the next room. No immediate threats popped up to start shooting at them, so Bucky let his gaze drift again as the rest of the team started reviewing the contents.

God, Tony had a nice ass. Even in the suit! It was too bad that Tony hated his guts, because Bucky had _always_ been an ass man. He’d give about anything to get into that ass, just set up camp and live in there—

The explosion caught him by surprise.

***

“You must have been wishing for something strongly to have caused such a reaction,” Wanda said, and Bucky felt a blush run up his right cheek. Which was all he could feel, because he’d apparently wished himself right into Tony’s body.

“This is bullshit,” Bucky said. This wasn’t what he’d wanted.

“It’s like a ‘Get Along Shirt’ but _more_ ,” crowed Clint. Bucky wondered what a Get Along Shirt was, but he knew damn well what his response should be. He flipped Clint off, and felt oddly justified when Tony followed up with a similar gesture only a fraction of a second later.

Shit, he really was stuck in Tony’s body. The right half of it. He couldn’t stop staring at his own body on the floor. It was sort of novel not to feel the constant low-level ache in his shoulder and back from the weight of the metal arm. It was nice, but not so nice that he wanted to _stay_ in this situation.

He lurched suddenly, and felt just a little bit of vibration in his (Tony’s) throat as Tony made frustrated sound. “We’re leaving now, is that okay?” Tony demanded.

“Okay, okay.” Bucky was going to have to pay _more_ attention to Tony now, just to pick up on those little cues. He hesitated for a second, and then took a step.

Holy shit, he could _feel Tony’s ass flexing_. Oh god.

He took another step, and another, and abruptly realized that he’d been so fixated on Tony’s (their) body that he had no idea what they were doing. “So, uh. Where are we going?”

“Back to the ‘jet. I want to contact Strange, see if he can get us out of this mess.”

“Fair enough.” Bucky took another step, and then became aware of an awful, tight squeeze in his chest. “Wait. Something’s… wrong.” He pressed against his (Tony’s) chest, running down the catalogue in his head of potential problems. “Did we get hit with some kind of gas? Or—“

“Slow your jets,” Tony sighed. “Feels tight, like you can’t get enough air?”

“Yeah,” Bucky agreed. He had to forcibly stop himself from trying to take a deeper gulp of air.

“Yeah, that’s just me.”

“No, this is not normal,” Bucky said. It felt like there was a crushing weight on his chest.

“It is if you spent five years with an electromagnet where your sternum used to be,” Tony said. “The reconstruction team did a great job, but I’ve got a permanently reduced lung capacity. That’s just how life is.”

Hydra had once tortured Bucky by strapping him down and putting weights on his chest until he had to struggle for every breath. “You _fight_ like this?”

“Don’t have a lot of choice,” Tony said. “I’ve got some filters in the suit that keep the oxygen content a little on the high side so I don’t strain as much, but yeah. Don’t worry about it. I’m sure we’re benched until you’re back in your own perfect body.”

Now that he knew it wasn’t the sign of an enemy attack, the pain wasn’t really any worse than what Bucky lived with in his shoulder. Just in a different place. “My body ain’t perfect.” Of course, it wasn’t any _better_ , either, and Tony didn’t have the assurance of the serum to keep him strong. The thought made Bucky stagger a little.

***

“Just hold still and let the robots do their thing,” Tony said.

Bucky still flinched a little when the removal rig reached up around them. It was too much like Hydra’s brain-burning gear closing in on him. He closed his eye and prayed for it to be over quickly.

He could feel the pieces of armor sloughing away. He could do this.

It wasn’t too bad, as long as he didn’t look. After a moment, he felt the angle of his leg change and knew that Tony had taken a step, which meant it was his turn now.

“Undersuit next,” Tony murmured.

Oh, Jesus, they were going to undress. Bucky hoped the heart, over on Tony’s side of the body, didn’t lurch. It took him a moment to gather himself and start to help unfasten the seals.

It’s just a body, he told himself. Pull yourself together.

They peeled down the top half of the suit, and Bucky made himself focus on the scars on Tony’s chest, and the pain that must have come with them. He didn’t let himself touch Tony’s body any more than he had to.

Then they got the suit down farther, and without warning, there was Tony’s dick. “Shit!” Bucky closed his eye tightly. “You’re not wearin’ any underwear!”

“Why the hell would I wear underwear in a suit this tight?” Tony asked. “It’s practically underwear on its own!”

Which was a point, but Bucky still had to work hard at not watching Tony’s dick.

“I’d think you were in the Army long enough to not be so modest,” Tony snarked at him.

Not to mention that Hydra’s only concern for Bucky’s clothing had been to ensure it was protecting him on a mission. “You didn’t sign up for this. I’m tryin’ to be polite.”

“Look, let’s just get this done,” Tony said, “and I’ll be dressed again.”

That was probably for the best.

***

Tony was frustrated with the situation. Bucky understood that, because he was pretty frustrated with the situation, himself.

So tempers were running a little high, despite Bucky’s resolve to be calm and polite. But really, what could he do when Tony was so obviously _wrong_? It felt weird and strange to put pants on left leg first, even weirder than not being able to feel his left leg (Tony’s leg) at all.

And Bucky had _never_ understood some people’s enjoyment of spicy food, though he’d been willing to humor the insanity from a distance, right up until Tony wanted to eat hot peppers with the tongue he was sharing with Bucky. _No_. Bucky’d had enough involuntary pain in his life to _willingly_ subject himself to _more_ of it.

Though maybe he should have given in on that battle, because arguing about it had just served to remind Bucky that he was sharing a tongue with Tony. Which meant that the inside of the mouth that he was tasting was _Tony’s_. This was the taste of Tony’s mouth.

This was what Bucky would taste if he kissed Tony very, very thoroughly.

Fuuuuck.

And then, to make matters worse, they had to get ready for bed.

Which meant another change of clothes. Bucky tried not to sneak another peek at Tony’s dick while they were doing that, he really did, but then--

“You’re lucky I even _own_ pyjamas. I’ve been sleeping naked since my teens.” Of course Tony said that while Bucky was balancing them on his one foot. They nearly fell over and smashed their face open.

And then Tony jerked his thumb toward the bathroom.

Fuuuuuuuuuuuck.

Bucky didn’t argue about the way Tony squeezed his toothpaste (the _wrong_ way) because he was too busy sweating about what was inevitably going to happen before they left the room. Sure enough, as soon as they’d fumbled through flossing, Tony turned toward the toilet.

“Do we gotta?” Bucky would like to say that he didn’t whine when he said that, but he’d have been lying.

“No way I’m holding it all night. Come on, let’s get it over with.”

Bucky could hope that Tony did this backwards, too -- but no, of course not. Tony used his hand to tug open the pyjama fly and waited not entirely patiently for Bucky to reach in for his -- their -- dick.

It wasn’t quite where Bucky expected it to be, and he wound up groping it a little more than was probably strictly necessary just because of the awkward angle. “You curve the other way.”

He half expected Tony to mutter something about how that wasn’t surprising considering all the _other_ things they were opposites on, but instead he just started mumbling about science and surveys.

Bucky couldn’t stop thinking about how that meant if they were face to face, their cocks would line up perfectly. “Can we just pee and save the science for later?” he snapped, his half of their face flaming.

“I like how you’re not trying to talk me out of the science,” Tony said cheerfully.

Bucky rolled his eye. “I grew up with Steve Rogers. I know when it’s futile to try to talk someone out of something.” And this wasn’t so bad. This was good, this was banter and camaraderie. Bucky could do this.

If he could just _stop thinking about Tony’s dick_.

***

Bucky couldn’t feel his left hand, but that wasn’t entirely unusual; sometimes it took a while to come online. In the meantime, his cock was demanding his attention, and oh, that was nice. Bucky’s dick had been a little off-and-on since Hydra, either a raging inferno of need or no interest at all, with very little in between. But this felt like a good morning, a nice normal morning wood.

Lazily, Bucky curled his hand around it. It was a little less sensitive than he was used to, but that was nice, too. Maybe he’d be able to make it last instead of going off like a bottle rocket.

He stroked upward, rolling his hand over the head, and oh, yeah, there it went, just a little precome to make things slick and easy. Oh, god, that was nice. He did it again and that was a little odd, it was like half his dick was numb, down the left side. But it was still responding to his touch just fine, so maybe it was another weird healing thing. He squeezed a little, and--

The sound of a soft catch of breath reached his ear. Not him, but--

Memory flooded back, all at once. “Shit!” he hissed, yanking his hand off Tony’s cock. “Shit, dammit. _Fuck_.” Who knew how pissed Tony was going to be about that?

Jesus _Christ_. Tony was notoriously lacking in modesty, but surely he’d draw the line at having his dick jerked for him while he was _sleeping_.

“Mmwha?” Tony mumbled. “Matter?”

Oh thank _god_ , Tony had slept through it all. Bucky wasn’t proud of taking the easy way out, but he absolutely wasn’t fucking stupid enough to pass it up. “Nn, musta been a dream,” he said, trying to make himself sound closer to sleep than he actually was.

Tony didn’t call him on it, so Bucky figured he’d gotten away with it.

He spent most of breakfast trying not to think about how good Tony’s dick had felt in his hand, or how adorably rumpled Tony had looked when they’d peered in the mirror.

***

It took them a while to hit their stride in the gym. Tony had to keep reminding Bucky to set the weights to levels that his strong but non-serumed body could handle, and the difference in their gaits made the treadmill an exercise in comedy.

But then Bucky took them over to the punching bag. “Look,” he said, “we can do this as long as we keep to the same rhythm.”

“And how do you propose making sure we do that?” Tony wondered.

“Marching songs,” Bucky said. “We used ‘em all the time in the Army to keep fellas marching in time. Ought’a work for this, too.”

Tony huffed a little. “Okay, we can try it.”

It took them a few tries to really get into it, but the old marching cadences worked perfectly. Bucky taught Tony one of his favorites, a blue chant that never would’ve been allowed in front of an officer but which had got him through more early-morning hikes than he could shake a stick at. By the time it were done Tony was laughing so hard he could barely keep up his share of the punches.

Tony had a really nice laugh.

Of course, then they had to get in the shower and Bucky was back to blushing. He almost sprang wood while he was soaping up their balls, but some determined consideration of one of Steve’s inspiring do-or-die speeches deflated him. Thank god.

Bucky hoped they got this fixed sooner rather than later, because otherwise Tony was going to catch on to him.

Shaving, at least, held no hidden traps. Tony’s goatee was fussy and complicated, but Bucky knew how to move steadily and decisively. By the time he was done, the tension in Tony’s side of the body had eased a lot, which was gratifying.

***

_He tried to run, but his legs wouldn’t move. Black coils snaked out of the shadows and wrapped around his legs from ankle to thigh. He tried to fight, but the shadowsnakes caught his arms, tangling them, too. They stretched him out, spread-eagled, and as much as he fought and struggled, he couldn’t move, even an inch._

_There was a mirror in front of him, a distorted fun-house sort of terror, and for the first time, Bucky saw what was_ behind _him. He opened his mouth to scream, and the tentacles filled it, pushing past his lips and down into his throat until he was gagging on them, choking._

_The giant blade whirred and spun, a sawmill’s deadly circle, and descended. He tried again, desperate, but couldn’t even turn his head._

_Slowly, the saw cut through his head, dividing him in half, a surprisingly neat line straight down his center. Gibbering creatures waited in the shadows, waited to take the halves of him away. His left side pulled away, and as it did, it melted into Tony’s features._ No! You can’t have him! _Bucky tried to scream, but he couldn’t move. Tony’s eye met Bucky’s in that dark mirror, and--_

Bucky jolted awake, panting. Tears leaked from his eye, and his throat felt thick, as if those awful shadows were still in it.

“Stop it,” the other side of his mouth murmured.

“Tony?”

“No, don’t,” Tony whimpered. “Stop it, no!”

“Tony! Tony, wake up!” Bucky reached over to smack lightly at Tony’s side of their face. “Wake up!”

Tony gasped, dragging in a harsh breath. “Oh god.”

“You okay now?” Bucky patted down Tony’s face to his chest, pressing lightly against his heart, feeling the way it raced. “You back with me?”

“Yeah, I...” Tony’s voice was hoarse, as if he’d been screaming. “Sorry. I was...”

“You’re not the only one with nightmares.” Bucky kept his hand on Tony’s chest, couldn’t resist stroking lightly with his thumb, reassuring himself that they were together and whole.

“They were going to kill you. And you thought I was going to let them.”

Bucky’s throat ached. Tony wouldn’t. Not even when Bucky had first come and they’d barely been able to be civil to each other. Tony wouldn’t have let someone else hurt him. Bucky had known that from the very beginning. “I was being cut in half,” he offered. He didn’t -- couldn’t -- tell the rest, that it was Tony that was being cut away from him, that he was so terrified of losing.

But he kept his hand over Tony’s heart, and they talked, making light of the darkness. Joked and cast their fear back into its own teeth. And just before they drifted off to sleep again, Tony’s hand covered his.

***

It was too bright. Bucky froze for a moment, then opened his eyes. The white ceiling and fluorescent lights of medical greeted him.

Bucky blinked. He lifted his left arm, shoulder aching, and looked at his metal hand.

It was over.

He ought to be relieved, he knew, but somehow, he already missed that strange closeness.

He wasn’t hooked up to any monitoring devices, though, so he got up and stretched -- two days of magically-induced semi-coma would make a body stiff -- and then realized that his stomach was ready to stage a revolt if he didn’t feed it soon.

He slid off the hospital bed and padded on bare feet through the facility, heading for the common kitchen.

It _was_ nice to have complete control of both sides of his body as he took ingredients out of the refrigerator and cabinets, and slid a large pan of frittata into the oven to bake. Then he went back to the counter to cut up fruit. A full house of Avengers ate a _lot_.

Hurried footsteps were followed by a gasp of, “You’re okay.”

Tony had worried about him? Bucky looked around with what was probably a somewhat dopey smile. “I woke up down in medical,” he confessed. “They’re going to be pissed when they realize I left without checking in.”

“Probably,” Tony said. He came closer, as if drawn by a magnet. “Then they’ll want to run all the tests on us.”

“So many tests.” Bucky scraped up the pieces of mango he’d been dicing and dumped them into the blender. “We should have breakfast before they catch up to us. You want a smoothie?” He winked at Tony. “I’ll even throw in a hot pepper for you.”

And then he was going to spend some quality time in the shower, remembering the taste of Tony’s mouth. He glanced up and caught Tony watching him with something like confused wonder. Maybe soon, he thought, he’d try to get another sample.


	19. Flush with Success

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Square Filled: R4 - presumed dead  
> Rating: T  
> Warnings: None, unless you count the gigantic honkin’ spider (I do!)  
> Summary: Bucky thinks it’s cute that Tony called him just to come kill a spider... until he gets a look at the spider.

“Aw, baby, did you call me over just so I could kill a spider for you?” Bucky looked amused and insufferably smug.

“It is _not_ a normal spider, it’s some kind of mutant.” Tony pointed at the bathroom door. “It’s in the tub. Just. Go take care of it.”

Bucky ducked down to kiss Tony’s cheek. Tony folded his arms impatiently, and Bucky laughed. “Okay, I’m goin’, I’m goin’.” He sauntered into the bathroom.

Tony waited.

“Oh, geez, that _is_ a big one,” Bucky said, sounding startled. Tony allowed himself a bit of a smug smile, because dammit, he could take care of a _normal_ spider on his own. But not too much of a smile, because there was still a spider the size of a smallish chihuahua in his bathroom. “A’ight, you,” Bucky said, with a certain amount of determination in his voice, “c’mere.”

Tony was _probably_ imagining that he could hear the spider’s legs scrabbling against the slick sides of the tub from all the way out here. He definitely was not imagining the thumps and clattering that Bucky was generating.

“Jesus, he’s _fast!_ ”

“Shit, it didn’t get out of the tub, did it?” Tony took a couple of cautious steps back.

“Nah, I just wasn’t expectin’-- _Shit!_ ”

“I mean, we could just burn the whole building down. Everyone would understand, once we explained. Totally justified arson, there.”

“I ain’t letting it get away,” Bucky promised. “Did it just... _hiss_ at me?”

“Oh, Jesus.”

“I got this, baby, I can do it.”

“I know you can,” Tony said encouragingly. He wasn’t sure he believed it, though. Burning the building down was starting to sound better and better all the time.

_Thump!_ “Gotcha!”

“You killed it?”

“Yep.”

“It’s really dead?”

“Yep. All curled up like they do.”

“Oh, thank god.”

There was some more rustling, and then Bucky came back into the bedroom. “All taken care of, baby.” He leaned in for a kiss.

Tony pushed him off. “I didn’t hear the toilet flush.”

“What? Nah, I just wrapped it up in some toilet paper and threw it in the trash.”

Tony stared at his boyfriend. “You have to flush spider carcasses,” he said.

“Baby--”

“Just to make sure!”

“Tony, sugar, it’s dead. I promise.”

“You’re absolutely sure?’

“Hundred an’ ten percent,” Bucky promised.

Tony shuddered. “Okay. Okay.”

“That thing really got you rattled, huh?” Bucky pulled Tony closer.

“This is the city, not the freaking woods. Spiders that size should not exist in the city.” Tony rested his head against Bucky’s shoulder. “Startled the hell out of me, too. I just wanted a shower.”

“Mm, well, since I’m here an’ all, how ‘bout we get good an’ dirty first, an’ then take that shower t’gether, hm, baby?” Bucky tipped Tony’s chin up to kiss him.

“Mmm, yeah, okay.” Tony curled his arms around Bucky’s neck and leaned into Bucky’s solid bulk. “Thanks for coming to my rescue.”

Bucky beamed. “You’re welcome, sugar.” He nuzzled at Tony’s neck and started backing them toward the bed.

As they passed the bathroom door, Tony couldn’t help but glance toward it.

And there, climbing over the rim of the trashcan, was the _fucking spider_.

Tony shrieked and threw himself backward, colliding with the bed and falling onto it.

“What? Wha-- Are you _shitting me?_ ” Bucky demanded.

“I told you, you have to flush them!”

Bucky growled, pushed up his sleeves, and stalked into the bathroom like he was ready to commit a murder. “Now you’re gettin’ it, you motherfucker,” he swore. “This time you ain’t just in the way, you’re fuckin’ _cockblockin’ me!_ ”

(That time, he flushed it.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This actually happened to me. One time when I was visiting tisfan, I encountered a WHAT THE FUCK sized spider in their bathroom and made tisfan's husband dispatch it for me. But he threw it in the garbage instead of flushing it and it fucking came back to life and crawled back out of the trash can. While I was on the damn toilet. ALWAYS FLUSH THE CARCASS.


	20. Behind the Door

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Square Filled: K4 - noir comics  
> Rating: G  
> Warnings: None  
> Summary: Adventurer Tony Stark is led on an adventure by Stephen Strange, who has come into possession of a map that leads to a mystical door. What’s behind the door? Well, that’s part of the adventure.

Tony was reading back over the new chronicler’s writeup and making notes in the margins when his office door swept dramatically open.

Usually, the door just opened, like any door. When it swept dramatically, Tony knew he was about to be accosted by--

“Stark.”

Tony didn’t massage his temples to stave off the oncoming headache, but it was a near thing. “Strange.”

“Doctor,” Strange corrected, as he always did. His cloak billowed around him, even though there weren’t any drafts.

It wasn’t that Tony didn’t like the man. Strange was a bit stuffy, but genuinely interesting, and never tried to tell Tony his own business. However, Strange only came around the Marvel Adventures offices when--

“I need your assistance,” Strange continued.

Yes. That.

Tony leaned back in his chair with a sigh, but waved Strange to the chair opposite his desk. “Have a seat, tell me all about it.”

Strange didn’t so much sit in the chair as hover over it, legs crossed tailor-fashion. “I have lately come into possession of a map.”

“What kind of map?”

“I’m not entirely certain,” Strange said ominously. “Its markings are in four separate languages, two of them no longer spoken anywhere on the globe, and one of them which even I don’t know. I suspect it leads to a doorway to another dimension entirely.”

“Other dimensions are _your_ area of expertise,” Tony pointed out, “not mine.” Strange was a master of mystical arts. Tony consulted him from time to time over purportedly cursed artifacts. (Usually the “curse” was a bluff, but Tony had seen just enough things turn out real to continue getting things checked.)

“Indeed,” Strange said, “but the fourth language is surprisingly modern Nepali.”

“You speak Nepali?”

“I lived for some years in Kathmandu,” Strange said, waving a hand dismissively. “My point is that the map was made sometime in the last hundred years, by someone of this Earth.”

“And you want me to do what, exactly?”

“Help me track down this doorway. I could do it myself, but it would be slower and costly, in terms of mystical energy, and I suspect I will need to be at my best when the door is opened.”

“Why not just leave the door closed?” Tony suggested.

“Because the map was recovered from the possessions of a known Nazi sympathizer,” Strange said. “If the Nazis have it, they’ll certainly be after whatever it is. We must recover it before they can, lest it be used against us.”

Tony nodded, suddenly grim. “I’ll have my airship prepare to take us to Kathmandu,” he agreed. “We’ll leave in two days.”

“Then let’s hope the Nazis don’t have too much of a head start,” Strange said. He swept out, and the door closed with a dramatic bang.

***

It took them most of two weeks to follow the increasingly obscure clues on the map to a small town with an ancient temple on its outskirts.

The first problem was that the town only had one hotel, small, musty, and mouldering. The second problem was that the hotel had only one available room for them to share.

The third problem followed hard on the heels of the second: the reason the hotel only had one available room was that more than half its few rooms had been taken by the officers of the Nazi contingent that had arrived in town not three days prior. The rest of them were camped out just outside the grounds of the old temple.

“This place is _swarming_ with Nazis!” Tony hissed as their door shut behind him. “Stephen, this is a _problem_.”

“No, it’s good,” Strange said. Tony stared at him in disbelief until he continued, “If they’d found what they were looking for, they’d already be gone. That there are so many here means they haven’t found a way to open the door yet.”

“Okay, fine,” Tony conceded. “But we’re no closer to opening the door than they are, and they’re camping right on top of it!”

Strange spread the map out on the end of the narrow bed. “These words here, I suspect, are the incantation that opens the door.”

“The ones in the language that neither of us know,” Tony said.

“Precisely,” Strange said. “There’s got to be a key here somewhere, something to tell us where to begin looking.”

Tony stared at the strange symbols for a long few minutes, then abruptly sat straight up. “It’s not a language,” he said. “It’s a _cypher_.”

“What?” Strange demanded. “Can you break it?”

“Of course I can,” Tony said. “I just need a little time.”

“Don’t take too long,” Strange warned. “If you can crack it, so can the Nazis.”

In the end it took Tony two more days of feverish work with Strange alternating between hovering over his shoulder and watching nervously out the window lest the Nazis realize they were more than simple tourists. Even then he wasn’t certain that he hadn’t wound up with a completely different sort of code, because the result of his efforts was a list of completely random words in Russian, of all things.

Time pressed down hard -- they had no way of knowing how far the Nazis had gotten in their own studies.

“We’ll have to sneak in at night,” Tony said. “They’ll have it guarded, but there won’t be more than a couple of them. Easy enough for us to take out. And then be ready to run. There’s no way of knowing how noisy this is going to be.”

“Or even what, exactly, we’ll find,” Strange agreed.

“There is that.”

***

As Tony predicted, the Nazis guarding the entrance to the temple were easily dealt with. They left the bodies -- unconscious or dead, Tony didn’t particularly care to check which -- slumped just inside, in the shadows, where they would be hard to see.

The temple itself was quiet and obviously the best-maintained building in the town. It didn’t seem to contain any mystical portals, however. It wasn’t until Strange noticed the uneven guttering of the lamps that they found the secret door that opened onto stairs leading downward.

The basement was littered with supplies, like any other basement Tony had seen -- food and decorations and oil for the lamps. Some items that Tony supposed were relics of sorts. At the far side of the room was an archway that opened onto a long corridor. Tony and Strange exchanged a glance, and followed it.

When they’d gone far enough that Tony judged they must be under the center of the town, it opened into a large, circular room. Tony wondered if the tunnel and room had been built specifically for this mystical purpose, or if whoever had constructed the door had just taken advantage of a structure already in place.

Other than them, the room was otherwise empty, but Strange turned on his heel a few times, eyes darting in the light of the lamp they’d brought with them. “There’s definitely something...” He lifted his hands and gestured, and the room was full of the dark yellow glow of his magic. What looked like a splinter of light appeared in the middle of the room, a crack in the air letting a cold, bluish light shine through.

They had only an instant to stare at it in wonder, and then the air was split with a shriek and a greenish scrawl of mystical symbols flared to life above their heads.

“Damn,” Strange cursed. “I should have known the Nazis would bring their own sorcerer.”

“What is it?” Tony asked, backing away from that nauseous glow. The shapes shifted when he looked at them, oozing like ichor. All the time, that ghastly wail continued.

“It’s just an alarm,” Strange said. “But I expect someone will be along to investigate shortly.”

Even as he said it, they heard distant shouting echoing down the long corridor.

“Right,” Tony said. “I’ll hold them off, you get that door open.”

“Wrong,” Strange said. “Whoever set these wards will doubtless be with them, and you have no defenses against magic. I’ll hold them off, and you open the door.”

“How do I do that?” Tony demanded.

“Just say the words!” Strange yelled, and he was gone, running flat back down the corridor, buying as much time as possible for Tony.

Tony pulled out the map and consulted the notes he’d made. He licked his lips nervously. “Well, here goes nothing... желание.”

The crack in the air grew brighter. Tony took a breath and tried the next word. “Ржавый.”

A faint shimmer began to emerge, a few bluish sparks flying, and the bright crack grew wider. Tony took a breath and continued. “Семнадцать. Рассвет. Печь. Девять.”

The sparks were raining down on him now, cold rather than hot as they bounced off his skin, and the crack was widening further, the light nearly too bright to see. Behind him, he could hear the shouting getting louder. He recognized Strange’s voice, with some relief.

“Добросердечный. Возвращение на родину. Один.”

The shouting was growing much louder. A pistol’s sharp crack drowned out even the alarm’s wailing for a moment, and Tony’s heart went cold with fear. Surely Strange’s magic wasn’t bulletproof. He swallowed the sour taste in his mouth and read the last phrase. “Грузовой вагон.”

The light from the door grew so bright that Tony was blinded, and then winked out, leaving behind... a man?

He was tall and broad through the shoulders, his dark hair long enough to conceal most of his face. He was dressed all in black, but the eyes that stared at Tony glowed pale blue, like the light from beyond the door. He murmured something that Tony didn’t catch.

“What was that?” As soon as he said it, he thought he should have said it in Russian, of course. But it was too late. Footsteps tramped into the room. The shrieking alarm cut off, at least. But one of them held Strange captive by a rope made of the same sickly green light that built the alarm, pushing Strange ahead of him like a lowly prisoner. He shouted at Tony in German to surrender, to put his hands up.

The man from the door didn’t look away from Tony, not so much as a glance at the Nazis flooding the room, weapons aimed. He cocked his head slightly and said in perfect English, “Ready to comply.”

“Help us,” Tony begged.

The man turned, finally, to look at the Nazis. At the sorcerer leading them. At Strange, caught in those coils of light.

“You may have freed the asset,” the Nazi sorcerer sneered, “but it responds to strength of will, purity of purpose! Behold!” He barked at the man in Russian that was so thickly accented Tony could barely understand it, something about bowing before the New Order.

The man stared at the Nazi for a few seconds, then strode over to him.

Tony had enough time to think, _I’m dead_ , and then the carnage began.

The sorcerer died before he had time to lift his hands in defense. The nearest three Nazis hit the ground before the rest even had time to aim their weapons. Tony dropped to the ground, grabbing for his pistol. The lights around Strange flickered and died.

The man didn’t seem to notice. He moved faster than it was possible for a human to move, dodging shots and wreaking havoc among the increasingly panicked Nazis. Tony shot one. Strange’s magic threw another up against the wall. Tony looked around for another target, but it was suddenly and strangely quiet, the sound of his breathing a harsh rasp.

The blue glow had faded from the man’s eyes, leaving them a blank, stormy gray.

“Who are you?” Tony wondered.

“Designation: Winter Soldier,” the man said. He was standing at attention, heedless of the bodies littering the floor.

“At ease. Don’t you have a name?”

“Designation: Winter Soldier.” He didn’t relax at all.

“Where are you from?”

“Unknown.”

“Who do you work for?”

“You.”

Tony drew back in surprise. “Me?”

“You unlocked the door,” Strange guessed, “so you control him.”

Tony looked at Strange. “Is he some kind of... construct?”

Strange walked slowly around the Winter Soldier, who only stared straight ahead, waiting for orders. Finally, Strange shook his head. “He’s not even from another dimension,” Strange said after a long moment. “They were just... storing him in there, it looks like.”

Tony shook his head. “You saw how he moved. That’s not human.”

“They’ve done something to him,” Strange agreed. “Partly mystical, partly science. It will take  our combined efforts to unravel it.”

“I have some resources I can call on,” Tony said. “Who did this to him? Hey, Winter Soldier. Who did this to you?”

“Unknown.”

Tony huffed out a breath. “Who did you work for, before me?”

“Неизвестный.”

“Unknown,” Tony translated with a sigh. “But probably Russian.” Tony considered the man for a moment. “You don’t have to work for me, if you don’t want to,” he said cautiously. “You’ve been a prisoner; we’re here to set you free.”

The Winter Soldier’s eyes flicked to him, brow wrinkling in confusion, and then his gaze snapped back to that middle-distance stare. “Ready to comply.”

“It’s part of what they did to him,” Strange put in. “He’s mystically bound in service, a compulsion he can’t break on his own.”

“Magically enslaved?” Tony grimaced in distaste. “Can you break it?”

“Eventually, but not now. Not here. The Nazis will have left more guards, and they will come soon.”

Tony grunted in understanding. “We need to get out of here, then.”

Strange lifted his hands and golden sigils floated in the air around them, and he cast Tony a look that was full of surprisingly boyish excitement. “Ready for another adventure?”


	21. No Fellow in the Firmament

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Square Filled: S5 - [image: iron patriot]  
> Rating: G  
> Warnings: None  
> Summary: Some moments in Tony and Rhodey’s history.

“But I am constant as the Northern Star, of whose true fixed and resting quality there is no fellow in the firmament.” -- _Julius Caesar_ , Shakespeare

  


Contrary to popular belief, Rhodey didn’t meet Tony at MIT.

Technically, it was off-campus. Jim was walking down the street, looking for the little bodega that a ROTC buddy had told him about that didn’t card for beer, when something exploded high above him.

Jim ducked and ran half a block, pursued by the tinkle of glass hitting the pavement. When he stopped and looked back, the window had fallen out of the top-story apartment, and there were plumes of smoke billowing out.

Jim set his teeth and ran back toward the building, ducking through the door and jogging up the stairs as fast as he could go. The top floor only had two apartments, and it wasn’t hard to guess which one the explosion had come from, given the loud swearing going on behind the door.

Jim lifted his hand to knock just as the door opened, releasing even more smoke and a startled teenager a few years younger than Jim. “Oh! Uh, hey, are you the neighbor? Because I swear, I didn’t do it on purpose.”

“No,” Jim said, “I’m--”

“Listen, if management sent you, I’m good for the window. In fact, it might be best if we just replace all the windows with something a little sturdier, because--”

“I’m not from management,” Jim interrupted. “I was walking by and saw, and I wanted to make sure no one was hurt.”

The teen pulled up short and stared at Jim. “The window didn’t fall on you, did it?”

“I got out of the way in time,” Jim assured him.

“And then you came back to the building where something had just exploded?”

“It seemed like the thing to do.”

The teen smiled. “You’re my kind of stupid,” he said and offered a hand. “Tony Stark.”

Bemused, Jim shook the kid’s hand. “Jim Rhodes.”

“You’re my new best friend, Rhodey,” Tony said, and tugged Jim into the apartment instead of letting go. “I’ll get this cleaned up and we can make another mess.”

***

When Rhodey heard the news, he ran all the way from campus to Tony’s apartment, taking the stairs two at a time. He burst through the door to find Tony sitting cross-legged on the floor, tinkering with DUM-E’s chassis. He glanced up, said, “Hey, Rhodey,” and went back to work, sticking the screwdriver between his teeth.

_Oh shit_ , Rhodey thought. _He hasn’t heard. I’m going to have to be the one to tell him_.

Then Tony looked up again and said, “Oh. You heard.”

“Yeah,” Rhodey said, and tried not to feel relieved. “It was on the TV at the Student Union. What... Tones, what are you doing?”

“Fixing DUM-E’s sticky wheel,” Tony said. “It keeps making him spin around in useless circles and I thought I should do something about it. Also I think I might be in shock.”

“Yeah.” Rhodey knelt next to Tony on the floor, running a hand down DUM-E’s arm. “You want me to go with you to talk to your professors?”

“What for?”

“So you can get an extension for your classes.”

“Oh, that. No need.”

Rhodey stared at his friend. “You’re going to withdraw?”

“What? No, of course not. We’re only a couple of weeks from the end of the semester.”

“Tony, I think when the shock wears off, you’re going to want some time.”

Tony actually stopped working and sat back on his heels to look at Rhodey. This close, Rhodey could see the red rimming his eyes. “I can’t,” he said. “Me at MIT, this was... This degree was the thing that was supposed to make Dad proud.”

“Oh, Tone.” Christ, it was enough to break his heart. Rhodey sighed and pulled Tony into a hug. “Okay, man. Whatever you need, I’ve got your back. You know that, right?”

Tony endured the embrace for a moment, then pushed away. “You can come with me to the funeral,” he said. “But right now, what I need is for you to hand me that can of WD40.”

***

“I don’t think I can do this.”

“You can _totally_ do this.”

“Easy for you to say.” Rhodey’s voice was reedy and thin across the phone line. “You’ve been doing product demonstrations for like twenty years already.”

“My first was at thirteen,” Tony said, “so more like twelve years.”

“Whatever. The point remains--”

“The point remains,” Tony overrode Rhodey’s nervous blathering, “the point remains that _you got this_. You know these systems inside and out, you know what the cost-benefit charts look like, and if you’re still anything like you were at MIT, you’ve been dreaming about this presentation for the last week.”

“Yeah, dreaming I walked in naked,” Rhodey grumbled. Tony could practically hear the pout over the line.

“You’re not going to walk in naked,” Tony huffed. “You’re going to blow them away. They’re going to wonder why they didn’t switch to Stark guidance systems five years ago.”

“And I’m going to tell them that five years ago, these systems were just a scribble on the back of your doctoral thesis,” Rhodey said.

“There you go,” Tony said. “You got this.”

“I got this,” Rhodey repeated. “Okay. Okay. I can do this. Thanks, Tones.”

“Anytime, sugarbear. Hey.”

“Yeah?”

“Tell ‘em if they make you the official liaison to Stark Industries for the duration of the contract, I’ll come down another five percent on overhead costs.”

“Tony, that’s going to be over half a million dollars. Per _year_.”

“Not enough?”

“Obie’s going to murder you if he finds out.”

“Nah. He’ll be glad I’m finally taking an interest.”

***

The less said about Afghanistan and Obadiah Stane, the better.

***

Tony was dozing off into his shwarma when JARVIS murmured into his ear, “Sir, you have an incoming call. It’s Colonel Rhodes.”

Tony rocked to his feet, startling several of the other Avengers. “Sorry,” he said. “I have to take this.” He put the helmet on and cued JARVIS to connect the call.

“You son of a bitch,” Rhodey said.

“Honeybear--”

“An _alien army_ , Tones? And you don’t even call? I had to find out from radio chatter?”

“Platypus, you are literally on the other side of the Earth right now. Even at top speed, it would’ve taken you a solid eight hours to get here. And that’s ignoring the time it would take to get clearance from your chain of command.”

“And you were positive you could wrap up an entire alien army in eight hours, were you?” Hoo boy, Rhodey was _livid_.

Tony closed his eyes. “I needed you to be the second line of defense.”

Rhodey was silent for a moment. “How bad?”

“Rhodey--”

“I’m watching some shakycam footage of you flying a missile into a portal, Tones. How. Bad?”

“Bad,” Tony admitted. “They were going to nuke the city.”

“I’m coming,” Rhodey said, his tone admitting no refusal.

“I’ll heat up the sake.”

***

“How’s that?” Tony asked. “Need any adjustments? Does it pinch?”

“It’s fine, Tony,” Rhodey said. “Ease up. You’re like an old woman.” He braced his hands on the arms of the chair, bracing himself to stand up.

“I just want it to be perfect.”

Rhodey grunted. He hadn’t seen Tony this manic and wracked with guilt in years. “Hey,” he said gently. “Tones. I’m alive, okay?”

“I know,” Tony said, too fast, too sharp. “And we’re going to get you up to code in no time. Come on, hop to it, there’s walking to be done.” He held out his hands.

The far end of the parallel bars might as well be in Timbuktu, Rhodey thought, but he’d rather break his back again than admit it to Tony. He grasped Tony’s wrists, let Tony pull him carefully to his feet. The braces Tony had built stabilized him, redistributing his weight with each subtle shift. “Not bad,” he said.

“It’s just the initial prototype,” Tony promised. “I’ve got Friday recording both externally and with sensors in the braces for stress and motion analysis.”

Rhodey put his hands on the parallel bars, holding himself up. Tony ducked out of the way but hovered, ready to catch Rhodey despite the thick mats to either side of the bars. “When are you going to tell me what happened over there?” Rhodey asked.

“I know you watched the suit footage,” Tony said, not looking at him. “Come on, take a step, now.”

Rhodey huffed and twisted, dragging his right foot forward a few inches. The braces whirred softly as they compensated for the weight shift. “Sure,” he said, “but when are you going to _tell_ me?”

“As soon as you’re off the painkillers so we can get drunk,” Tony said, surprisingly honest.

Rhodey thought about what he’d seen on that unsteady footage and nodded. “Fair. I’ll buy the first round.”

“You’re on.”

***

Rhodey stood at the window and looked out over a city in mourning.

The shock of Thanos’ victory was beginning to lift, and despite the wave of heartbreak and panic, people were beginning to rebuild their lives, to take care of each other, to help each other. Humans, Rhodey thought, not for the first time, were an amazingly resilient race.

He missed Sam.

“Rhodes.”

Rhodey didn’t answer, didn’t turn to look as Romanov came up beside him.

“Do you think he’s still out there?” She didn’t need to specify who.

“Absolutely.”

He could feel her looking at him, but kept his own gaze on the city. “What makes you so sure?”

Rhodey could almost feel sorry for her, never having known the kind of constancy that he’d had with Tony. He shook his head, smiling, just a little. “If you have to ask,” he said gently, “I can’t explain it. He’s out there. He’s coming back. And when he gets here, y’all had better be ready to _work_ , ‘cause he’s gonna have a plan.”


	22. Try, Try Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Square Filled: T5 - kink: fuck or die  
> Rating: E  
> Warnings: Implied non-con/rape (offscreen), sex-pollen dubcon.  
> Summary: Madam Hydra’s most successful project was Snowmelt; breeding children from the Winter Soldier. When she returns unexpectedly from the dead, she decides that Tony Stark will be a good donor for a new wave of experiment children. But first, she needs genetic material. And for that, she has a special drug for Tony.

[A/N: I wrote this one jointly with [tisfan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tisfan/pseuds/tisfan). You can read it [HERE](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15182306). Just posting the link here so I have the whole bingo in one place, at least sort of.]


	23. Roll of the DICE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Square Filled: A5 - questionable decision-making process  
> Rating: T  
> Warnings: None  
> Summary: Sometimes, Bucky and Tony have trouble deciding what to do on their dates. Tony’s got an app for that.

Bucky swung into the workshop. Tony was hunched over a terminal, a collection of empty and half-empty coffee mugs scattered across the table. “Hey, babe. Did you forget about date night?”

“I did not forget,” Tony protested. “I just need to finish this, real quick.” He looked up at Bucky with a warm smile, and leaned out of his chair to pull Bucky in for a quick kiss. “Give me five minutes -- the code is compiling right now -- and then we can go.”

“Okay,” Bucky said agreeably. He scooped up several of the coffee mugs and carried them toward the sink. “Hey, U, we’ve talked about this. He’s not supposed to have more than three cups until he has something to eat.”

“I ate!” Tony called across the shop. “There was a... sandwich. I think. Or maybe it was an apple.”

“Sure, but was it _today_?” Bucky wondered. Tony stuck his tongue out at Bucky, and Bucky laughed.

By the time Bucky had gotten all the mugs moved to the sink for the ‘bots to clean up, Tony was unplugging his phone from the terminal with a flourish. “And now, date night, as promised!”

“Great! So, where are we goin’?”

“See, I knew you’d ask that,” Tony said. “Which is why...” He swiped at his phone and a holographic interface sprang up, a sphere composed of geometric shapes, gently rotating in place.

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “What’s that for?”

“It’s the Date Indecision Compromise Executor,” Tony said.

“The what, now?”

“It’s for those nights that we don’t really have any specific ideas about what we want to do. This will pick for us!”

Bucky snorted. “Like pulling ideas out of a jar, or throwing a dart, or something?”

“Exactly! But better! I’ve programmed in our specific likes and dislikes, things we’ve tried and liked in the past, things we’ve mentioned wanting to try. It takes into account the season, weather, time of day, and venue availability, and it has adjustable variables for things like how we’re feeling about encountering crowds, or if one of us is recovering from an injury, things like that.”

“Huh.” Bucky considered the rotating emblem. “What if I’m hungry?”

“When are you not?” Tony teased. “But of course.” He touched a control and said, “Where should we eat?”

The sphere whirled into motion, lighting up and spinning faster for a moment, then it said, “Taco Loco.”

“Oh, yeah, that sounds good,” Bucky admitted. Taco Loco was one of his favorite food trucks.

One of the geometric shapes that made up the sphere blinked and expanded to show a map with the current location of the truck.

Bucky looped his arm through Tony’s. “Guess we’ve got ourselves a date, then.”

***

The tacos were, as always, delicious. Tony had their classic street tacos with steak, onions, and avocado, while Bucky selected a host of different things to try -- lentil with sweet chili sauce, tuna and sprouts, duck and zucchini, chicken and pineapple. They ate strolling down the street, talking about everything and nothing, and it was really, really nice. Relaxed and fun.

Afterward, the DICE suggested that they stop in at a gelato shop that neither of them had ever even heard of before, and it turned out to be one of those hole-in-the-wall miracle finds. It took half an hour just to make a decision, but eventually Bucky settled on the mango-lime while Tony had an espresso and bitter chocolate swirl.

“Okay, I’m sold,” Bucky said, licking the tangy-sweet remnants off his fingertips. “What’s your contraption say we should do next?”

“Let’s find out!” Tony pulled up his phone. “Any parameters you want to set this time?”

“Nah, sky’s the limit.”

“Okay, let’s see what it comes up with!” Tony tapped the button and the DICE spun into action.

“Weekend in Venice,” the DICE announced.

Bucky laughed. “Okay, that’s obviously not happening, spin it again.”

Tony hesitated. “I mean. You did say the sky’s the limit. There’s no reason it couldn’t happen.”

“What?” Bucky stared at Tony.

“I do have a private jet,” Tony pointed out. “And a staff that will absolutely make a hotel and transportation happen for us before we can touch down, much less breeze through customs.”

“For a date?” Bucky asked, a smile tugging at the edge of his mouth. “Sounds like cheatin’ to me.”

Tony threw his hands up. “If you insist, I can make all the calls myself from the air. I’m just saying. Evil’s been keeping its head down, the last week or so. There’s no reason why we can’t just... take the weekend.”

Bucky stared at his boyfriend. “Are you... are you being serious, right now?”

Tony grinned at him. “Trust the DICE,” he wheedled. “Come on. We can be in Venice in time for lunch tomorrow. I know a great little cafe.” Then, while Bucky was still hesitating, he added, “The plane has a nice bedroom. We could join the Mile High Club on our way.”

“Again.”

“Again,” Tony conceded.

Not quite ten hours later, they were getting into a boat-taxi in Venice. Tony chatted with the pilot in flawless Italian, and then snuggled under Bucky’s arm as they floated through the famed canals to -- as promised -- a quiet little cafe in the heart of the city. The food was good enough to make Bucky’s tastebuds sing, and plentiful enough that even his constant appetite was finally sated. He could have made an entire meal of the appetizers alone.

Then the taxi took them to their hotel. Bucky had gotten -- somewhat -- used to being surrounded by luxury and wealth, and was expecting more of the same, but this was a quiet, understated place, sumptuous without being extravagant. It felt cozy and welcoming, unlike some of the places Tony had taken him, which were designed to impress and overpower.

“Worth the trip?” Tony asked, flopping down onto the bed.

“So far,” Bucky agreed. “What’re we doing with the rest of our weekend?”

Tony loaded up the DICE program again. “We’ve had pretty good luck with this so far. Want to keep going?”

“Sure,” Bucky agreed. “We can always ignore it if we don’t like what it says, right?”

“Right,” Tony agreed, and he touched the button.

DICE spun and blinked, then announced, “Stay in and make out.”

“Okay, that’s--”

Bucky plucked the phone out of Tony’s hand and tossed it onto the chair on the far side of the room. “Sounds like the perfect way to round out our ‘date’ to me, doll.”

“Yeah?”

Bucky climbed onto the bed, straddling Tony’s lap, and bent down to kiss him. “Can you think of anything better to be doing?”

“Do you know,” Tony mused, “I really can’t.”


	24. Death is Only the Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Square Filled: R5 - movie retelling  
> Rating: PG/Teen  
> Warnings: Mild gore  
> Summary: Tony had been to Hamunaptra before, and it hadn’t gone well at all. He’s not sure why he’s going back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have you seen The Mummy (1999 version)? This is that. But with MCU characters. I’ve seen a few of these before, and they almost universally put Tony in Evie’s role. I wanted to do something different.

“Come!” Raza, the warden said, gesturing expansively. “Welcome to Ten Rings Prison!”

Steve turned his glare on Clint. “You said you got it on a mission down in Thebes!” he hissed. “You lied!”

“I lie to everyone,” Clint said easily. “What makes you so special?”

“I am your _brother_.”

“That just makes you more gullible.” Clint skipped away from Steve’s punch.

“You _stole it_ ,” Steve accused, “from a drunk at the casbah?!”

“Picked his pocket, actually,” Clint said proudly.

Steve growled in frustration and skipped ahead a few steps to catch up with the warden. “What exactly is this man in prison for?” he asked.

“This, I do not know. But when I heard you were coming, I asked him that myself.” Raza gestured at the guards, who went through a door, presumably to fetch Clint’s erstwhile victim.

“And what did he say?” Steve wondered.

“He said he was just looking for a good time.”

The guards re-emerged, dragging with them a snarling, spitting rag of a man. He was somewhere between Steve and Clint in height, his brown hair long and snarled, his beard thick on his face. He had dark eyes that sparked dangerously as he looked from Raza to Clint to Steve, then back to Clint.

“This is the man you stole it from?” Steve murmured to Clint.

“Yeah,” Clint agreed, trying to turn away. “So why don’t we just--”

“Who are you?” the man demanded of Clint.

“I’m just a local missionary,” Clint lied nervously, “out spreading the good word. And this is my brother, Steve.”

Those wild, dangerous eyes turned back to Steve, looking him over thoroughly. “Hmm. Guess he’s not a total loss.”

Steve glared. “Now look, pal...”

A fight broke out on the far side of the visitor’s yard, and Raza cursed. “I’ll be back in a moment,” he promised, and he stomped away to deal with it.

“Quick, ask him about the box,” Clint urged, “and let’s get out of here.”

Steve edged closer to the bars separating them from the imprisoned man. “Um, hello. We found your... your puzzle box, and we’ve come to ask you about it.”

The man looked at him sharply. “No.”

Steve found himself arrested by those sharp, intelligent eyes. However wild the man looked, this was no common ruffian. “No?”

“No,” the man said. “You’ve come to ask me about Hamunaptra.”

“Shh!” Steve shushed, glancing nervously at the guards, and edged closer. “How do you know the box pertains to Hamunaptra?”

The man’s mouth quirked into a smirk. “Because that’s where I was when I found it. I was there.”

Clint snorted. “Sounds like a load of bull to me,” he opined.

Those dark eyes looked Clint over again and narrowed. “Do I know you?”

“Nope, not at all,” Clint backpedaled. “I just have one of those faces.”

Steve impatiently shoved Clint back out of the way. “You were actually there?” Steve demanded. “You swear?”

“Every damn day,” the man agreed.

“That’s not what I--”

“I know what you meant, Captain Literal,” the man said. “Yes, I really was there.”

“Seti’s palace? The City of the Dead?” Steve felt a thrill of excitement. “Could you tell me how to get there? I mean, the exact location?”

The man leaned into the bars and beckoned Steve closer. “You really want to know?” he murmured.

“Yes!” Steve leaned in. “Yes, I--”

The man’s hand shot through the bars and caught Steve’s face, dragging him close. Before Steve could even react, the man’s mouth was on his, hot and urgent. “Then get me the hell out of here!” he yelled. The guards yanked him back, kicking and cuffing him as they drove him back through the interior door.

“Where are they taking him?” Steve asked.

“To be hanged,” Raza said from behind them. Steve and Clint both turned to stare at the warden. Raza shrugged “Apparently, he had a _very_ good time.”

***

Steve stretched up on his toes to look around the crowded docks. “Do you think he’s actually going to turn up?”

Clint huffed. “Knowing my luck, yes.” Steve shot him a glare, and Clint lifted his hands in surrender. “I’ve encountered his type before. His word is good.”

Steve grunted. “His type? He’s filthy, rude, and a total jerk. I don’t like him one bit, and I don’t trust him as far as I could throw him.”

“Talking about anyone I know?”

Steve turned and stumbled to a halt. It was undoubtedly Tony Stark who stood before him -- there was no mistaking those flashing dark eyes -- but this man bore as much resemblance to the filthy criminal from the prison as a horse did to a camel. His hair had been cut and now hung in short waves that made Steve want to touch it, to run his fingers through it to see if it was as soft as it looked. His beard had been trimmed down to a stylish goatee, the edges nearly sharp enough to cut. He’d changed out of the prison rags and into a shirt and vest that showed off the lean muscle of his forearms and the tantalizing line of his throat, and pants that positively hugged strong thighs and a perfectly rounded behind.

Steve’s mouth went dry. “Um, uh, hello,” he stammered.

Clint smirked at Steve and clapped Stark on the shoulder. “Perfect day for the start of an adventure, right, Stark?”

“Yeah, sure, perfect,” Stark snorted. He pointedly opened his vest to check on his wallet.

“Hey, no, I’d never steal from a partner,” Clint protested, grinning. “Partner.”

“Uh-huh,” Stark said, disbelievingly.

“Mr. Stark,” Steve interrupted, before Clint could put a foot in his mouth again, “can you look me in the eye and guarantee that this isn’t some kind of bullshit? Because if it is, I’m warning you--”

“ _Warning_ me?” Stark demanded. “Look, let me put it this way. My whole damn garrison believed in this so much that -- without orders -- they marched halfway across Libya and into Egypt to find that city. And when we got there, all we found was sand and blood.” Stark’s eyes were practically burning with intensity, boring into Steve’s, and Steve found himself fighting the urge to take a step back, away from that searing heat.

And then suddenly, the tension broke. Stark smiled, all easy charm. “Let me get your bags for you.” He picked up the suitcase at Steve’s feet with simple grace despite its weight, and plucked Steve’s other bag out of half-numb hands, then strolled up the gangplank, whistling to himself.

“Yeah,” Clint said. “Filthy, rude, a total jerk. Nothing to like there, at all.”

Steve glared, but his intent to punch his brother in the arm was arrested by a familiar -- and vastly unwelcome -- voice. “A bright good morning to you all!”

Raza was striding toward them, a duffel over his shoulder.

“Oh, no, what are _you_ doing here?” Steve groaned.

“I’m here to protect my investment,” Raza said with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

***

“Quit playin’ with your glasses and cut the deck, Sitwell.”

“Without my glasses, I can’t see the deck to cut it, Rumlow.”

Tony sized up the treasure hunters in a few quick glances as he strolled casually across the deck. Rumlow and Rollins were dumb muscle -- quick and deadly, but not the brightest stars in the sky. Tony didn’t think they’d be much of a problem. Sitwell was an analyst, and the guy managing their money. Tony didn’t give him much credit, either. The team had some kind of Egyptian expert with them, but Ward was apparently bright enough to know better than to play poker with guys like Rumlow and Rollins.

The fourth person at the poker table was, of course, Clint. No way could that end well. Tony sighed and curved toward them.

“Stark,” Rollins greeted him with an oily smile. “Sit down, we could use another player.”

“I only gamble with my life,” Tony said cheerfully. “Never my money.”

“Never?” Rumlow rasped, glancing up from his cards. He looked lazy and smug, and could probably be out of that long-legged sprawl and on Tony with that knife from his belt before Tony could take more than a step to get away. “Betcha five hundred dollars that we get to Hamunaptra before you.”

“You’re looking for Hamunaptra?” Tony asked, as casually as he knew how.

“Damn straight we are,” Rollins said.

“And... who says we are?” Tony wondered, though the sinking feeling in his stomach said he already knew the answer.

All three treasure hunters pointed at Clint. “He does,” they chorused. Clint gave him a weak grin.

Yep.

“Well.” That might cause a problem, down the road.

“How about it?” Rumlow pressed. “Is it a bet?”

Tony considered it. Once they docked and set out into the desert itself, it wouldn’t be too hard to lose them. And they’d never find their way through the shifting sands, much less figure out the secret of the shimmering sun. “You’re on,” he agreed.

Sitwell eyed him suspiciously as he leaned across the table to shake Rumlow’s hand. “What makes you so confident?”

“What makes you?” Tony countered.

“We’ve got a guy who’s actually been there,” Rumlow chuckled.

“Oh, what a coincidence,” Clint started, “because Stark--” Tony jabbed Barton in the shoulder, hard, right where the nerve bundle was. Barton almost dropped his cards, but he got the message. “Oh, shit, uh, whose play is it? Is it my play?”

“Gentlemen,” Tony said pleasantly, “we’ve got a wager. Good night, Clint.” He squeezed Clint’s shoulders just a bit harder than necessary for a casual parting. A silent warning, one that even the thief ought to be able to understand: _keep your trap shut_.

Tony sighed and followed the curve of the deck around to check on the animals.

He nearly ran smack into Steve, coming the opposite direction. “Oh!” Steve startled and backed away a few steps, staring at him with those luminous blue eyes.

“Sorry,” Tony said, edging past to reach the gear strapped to their camels. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“The only thing that scares me, Mr. Stark, is your manners,” Steve growled, turning to keep Tony in his eye.

Tony pulled out his pack. “Still angry about that kiss, huh?”

“If you call that a kiss,” Steve huffed. He was cute like that, eyes narrowed and chin tipped up belligerently, even though he was small enough that a strong gust of wind might knock him off the deck.

Tony grinned and unrolled his weapons.

Steve’s indignation faded into surprise. “Did I miss something?” he asked, drawing nearer to look over the array of options. “Are we riding into battle?”

Tony pulled out a pistol and checked to make sure it was loaded and that the magazine was full. He tucked it into his belt. “There’s something out there,” he said shortly, well aware that Steve was going to think he was making shit up to try to be impressive, or that he’d been spooked by the omnipresent rumors of a curse. “Something underneath that sand.”

“Yes, well.” Steve waved a hand, dismissing Tony’s caution. It was surprising how much that stung, even though Tony had expected it. “I’m hoping to find a certain artifact,” Steve confided. “A book. My brother--” He cast a slightly exasperated glance back toward the poker game. “--thinks there’s treasure. What do you think is out there?”

“In a word?” Tony tucked a knife into the other side of his belt and a handful of ammunition into his pocket. “Evil.” He glanced up, and saw the skepticism on Steve’s face. “The Bedouin and Tuaregs believe that Hamunaptra is cursed.”

Steve outright snorted. “I don’t believe in fairy tales and nonsense, Mr. Stark, but I do believe one of the most famous books in history is buried there: the Book of Amun-Ra. It’s said to contain all the secret incantations of the Old Kingdom. It’s why I came here. Sort of my life’s pursuit.”

Tony raised an eyebrow. “And the fact that they say it’s made out of pure gold makes no difference, right?”

Steve grinned. “You know your history.”

“I know my treasure,” Tony countered, deflecting. He didn’t _know_ how he knew about the book, or its importance, or the fact that it damn well ought to remain buried and hidden. Not knowing unsettled him.

“So, uh,” Steve said slowly, “why _did_ you kiss me?”

Tony shrugged, his attention on the shotgun he was loading. “I was about to be hanged. It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

Steve made a noise that Tony couldn’t interpret, and by the time he looked up, Steve was already walking away. Maybe more like stomping. “What’d I say?”

It was a puzzle, but Tony didn’t have time to figure it out right now. He resumed going over his kit. One of the camels shifted restlessly, only for a moment, but it was enough for Tony to spot the human shadow the lamps cast against the wall.

Eyes narrowing, he drew his pistol and crept across the space, watching his own shadow carefully to be sure it didn’t give him away. He took a breath and then jumped forward, weapon already pointed. “Surprise!”

The weasely little man hidden in the camel’s stall flinched back, and then broke into a wide, insincere smile. “Anthony, my friend, my buddy! You’re alive! I was worried about you!”

Tony felt his teeth grinding. “Well, if it isn’t my best buddy Justin.” He lifted the pistol. “I think I’ll kill you.”

Hammer put his hands up. “Don’t! Think of my children!”

“You don’t have any children.” No sane woman would sleep with Hammer.

“Someday I might, eh?” Hammer grinned and waggled his eyebrows at Tony.

Tony rolled his eyes. Hammer was an asshole, but Tony probably couldn’t get away with killing him in cold blood. “So you’re the one leading the treasure hunters. I should’ve known. What’s the scam? Lead them out into the desert and then leave them to rot?”

“Unfortunately, no,” Hammer sighed. “They’re too smart for that. They only paid half up front, and won’t give me the other half until we get back to Cairo. So this time, I’ve got to go all the way.”

“Rough,” Tony said, wholly unsympathetic.

“You never believed in Hamunaptra,” Justin pointed out. “Why’re you going back?”

Tony shrugged, glanced toward the far end of the stables, where Steve had stopped to pet one of the camels. “See that guy? He saved my neck.” That wasn’t the reason, really, but it was a reason that Hammer could understand. Better than some mythical, mystical _pull_.

Hammer smirked. “You always did have more balls than brains.”

Tony grinned back. “Yep. Buh-bye, Justin.” He grabbed Hammer’s shirt and tossed him over the railing and into the Nile. The sound of Hammer’s sputtered cursing was like music to Tony’s ears.

***

The attack on the barge hadn’t dampened Steve’s determination at all. Tony was beginning to think nothing would. He could only watch with bemusement -- and growing admiration -- as Steve befriended the Bedouins, took to camelback like he’d been born in the saddle, and endured the brutal and unceasing assault of the desert sun without a single complaint.

When it was Steve who sailed first through the gates of Hamunaptra, ahead of even Tony and leaving the treasure hunters in the dust, Tony’s heart had swelled with a certain fierce pride.

Steve hadn’t even been particularly put off by Raza’s mysterious death -- disturbed, certainly, but not frightened. (Tony himself could only think _good riddance_ to the man who’d had him beaten and tortured.)

Maybe this trip wouldn’t be the disaster that Tony’s instincts were still insisting upon. At least, not for them.

He climbed over the little rocky bluff and into the hollow where they were making their camp. “It seems our friends had a little misfortune of their own today,” he reported as he settled by the fire. “Three of their diggers were... melted.”

Clint and Steve both threw him startled, incredulous looks. “What? How?”

“Pressurized salt acid,” Tony said. He’d overheard the diggers talking as he’d scouted the perimeter. “Some kind of ancient booby trap.”

Clint shuddered. “Maybe this place really is cursed.”

Tony couldn’t help but feel a cold wind blow down his own spine.

“Oh, for cryin’ out loud,” Steve complained. “You two!”

“You don’t believe in curses?” Tony challenged.

“No, I don’t,” Steve shot back. “I believe if I can see it and touch it, then it’s real.”

Tony grunted and checked the chamber of his rifle. “Yeah, well, _I_ believe in being prepared.”

Clint sidled over next to the packs. “Let’s see what our friend the warden believed in,” he said, thrusting his hand into Raza’s pack. “Ow!”

“What is it?”

“A broken bottle,” Clint said, pulling it free and sucking on his cut finger. “Glenlivet!” he crowed.

Whatever else he might have said was swept away by the thundering of hooves and the blood-chilling ululation of a battle cry from a dozen or more throats. It was swiftly followed by panicked shouting from the treasure hunters’ camp, the firing of guns.

Tony thrust his rifle at Steve. “Stay here!” he commanded, and vaulted up into the chaos.

The horsemen were dressed in all black, their faces shielded, and they howled as they charged through the ruins, their blades flashing.

“Steve!” he heard Clint call. “Damn it!” Tony cursed under his breath. Of course neither of them were going to stay in the relative shelter of their camp. Tony drew his pistol and charged, leaping off a fallen plinth to drag one of the riders off his horse.

The rider raised a scimitar that glinted wickedly in the moonlight. Tony shot at it, half-panicked, and it went spinning off into the darkness. He caught a glimpse of startled grey eyes, but then a horse charged between them, forcing Tony to dive out of the way.

He recognized the report of his rifle through the din and wondered if the tiny, frail Steve had been able to withstand its recoil. No time to check. Tony threw himself back into the fray. He shot, and shot again, and again, and-- _click_. Damn it! He was going to design a pistol with a larger magazine, as soon as he got back to Cairo.

He fumbled in his belt for more bullets, cracked the pistol’s chamber.

A wild shriek make him look up. The gray-eyed rider was bearing down on him again, having recovered his sword and horse. Tony threw up his arms instinctively. _Clang!_ The sword hit his pistol, tossing it out into the darkness. Tony fell, rolling, and barely stopped himself before he landed in the treasure hunters’ fire.

The gray-eyed rider wheeled his horse, came back around. Tony groped in his belt, found nothing, nothing-- His hand closed on a stick of dynamite. He fumbled it out and stuck the fuse into the fire, held it up threateningly.

It was pure bluff -- but the gray-eyed rider pulled up short. He tugged the veil from his face, staring at Tony stonily, gauging Tony’s sincerity.

Tony tried to look as if he were willing to blow himself up just to take the rider with him. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he _knew_ this man, though how that was possible, he had no idea.

The rider nodded, once. “Enough,” he said, and then raised his voice to repeat it. “Enough! We will shed no more blood, but you must leave this place -- or die. You have one day!” He wheeled his horse again and rode away. The other riders followed in his wake.

***

Steve punched Stark as hard as he could. Which wasn't very hard, if he had to be honest – especially not with the liquor warming his belly. He staggered a few steps, and Stark caught him, laughing breathlessly.

“Not bad, not bad,” Stark said.

Steve glared. He hated being patronized.

“No, really,” Stark said, holding up his hands as if in surrender. “It lacks force, but you've got good form. Okay, okay, try this, try a right hook.” He held up his hand for a target. “Ball up your fist – yeah, just like that, and then put it, put it right here. You have to _mean_ it.”

“I mean it!” Steve growled. He didn't, really, though. The whisky was making him sort of lightheaded and giggly. Stark smiled at him, and Steve couldn't help remembering that kiss. He wondered if he'd like it any better if Stark tried again. But Stark wasn't kissing him. Stark was just standing there, waiting. Waiting for... For... Oh! For Steve to hit him!

Steve slugged Stark's hand as hard as he could, and nearly fell over.

“Okay,” Stark said. He caught Steve and turned them toward the fire, where Clint lay snoring into his bedroll. “I think it's time for another drink.”

“Unlike my brother,” Steve informed Stark primly, “I know when to say no.”

“Unlike your brother,” Stark returned, taking his own swig out of the broken bottle, “you, I just don't get.”

“I know,” Steve said smugly. “You're wondering, what is a place like me doing in a boy like this.”

“Something like that.”

“Egypt is in my blood,” Steve told Stark sincerely. He pulled out his compass and opened it to show Stark the pictures Steve kept there. “You see, my... my father was a very famous explorer. And he loved Egypt so much that he fell in love with my mother, who was an Egyptian, and quite the adventurer herself.”

“You don't look Egyptian,” Stark said.

“No, I look like him,” Steve said, a little sadly. His mother had been elegant and beautiful, and Steve wished he had even a fraction of her grace and poise. Instead, all he'd inherited from her was a slight frame and bullheaded stubborness. “But she lives in me. And so does he. And so does Egypt.” He regarded the old photos wistfully.

“Yeah, I get that,” Stark said. “I get your father, and I get your mother.” He pointed at Clint. “I get _him_. But I don't get _you_. What are you doing here?”

He looked so urgent and sincere, as if it were really important to him that he _understand_ Steve, and that was... that was _rare_. People wanted Steve to do things for them. Or they wanted Steve to shut up and go away. But no one really wanted to _know_ him. Not even Clint, really.

So it seemed suddenly very, very important that Stark get a good answer. “Look,” he said earnestly, “I may not be an explorer or an adventurer or a treasure hunter or a gunfighter, Mr. Stark, but I am proud of what I am.”

“And what is that?” Stark seemed honestly curious.

“I... am a librarian,” Steve said triumphantly. He looked over at Stark, who was smiling a little but not laughing, and suddenly Steve really, _really_ wanted to kiss those curving lips. “And I am going to kiss you, Mr. Stark,” he announced.

“Call me Tony.”

A warmth flooded through Steve that had nothing at all to do with the Glenlivet. “Tony,” he breathed. He leaned in, the alcohol making his head spin, and--

***

Tony was grateful for everything he knew about counterweights and levers as he and Clint dragged the sarcophagus out of its grave. It landed with a crash, but the lid didn’t budge.

“Oh, I’ve dreamt about this since I was a boy!” Steve said, all but dancing around them in excitement.

Tony raised an eyebrow. “You dream about dead guys?”

Steve’s enthusiasm was undeterred. It was kind of cute, actually. “Look!” he said, brushing away the cobwebs and dust clinging to the case. “His sacred spells have been chiseled off.” He ran his fingertips over the roughened stone. “This man must have been condemned. Not only in this life, but in the next.” He sounded a little melancholy, as if in sympathy for the poor dead sot.

“Uh-huh,” Clint said, obviously not as affected as his brother. He tossed the key-box at Steve. “Now, let’s see who’s inside.”

Steve deftly released the catches on the box and fitted it into the notch on the sarcophagus lid. Tony had to force himself not to step back. It wasn’t weird or eerie that it seemed to fit perfectly. Probably all the locks here in Hamunaptra were made to fit only a few different keys.

Tony very carefully didn’t ask himself why a coffin would need to be locked.

The mechanism turned surprisingly smoothly, considering it was thousands of years old. The lid cracked with a faint hiss of escaping air, carrying with it a foul stench.

Steve pushed at the lid, but it didn’t budge any further. Tony rolled his eyes and set his shoulder to the thing -- they were heavier than they looked, but-- nothing. It barely shifted. Tony grunted, placed his feet, and tried again. Sure, the lock worked perfectly, but the hinges? Rusted through.

Steve badgered Clint into helping, and they all three pushed and pulled at the sarcophagus lid, painfully dragging it open an inch... another...

The warped hinge released suddenly.

“ _Aaaah!_ ” The mummy inside all but fell on them, a particularly gruesome attack. Panting from the reaction, Tony was quietly glad to see neither Clint nor Steve had been unaffected, either.

“Oh my god,” Clint gasped, “I hate it when these things do that.”

Moment of panic past, Tony leaned a little closer, holding up his torch to better light their find. “Is he supposed to look like... that?” he wondered. All the mummies he’d seen before had looked dessicated, dry and leathery.

“No,” Steve said. “I’ve never seen a mummy look like this before. He’s still... Still...”

“Juicy,” Tony finished.

“Yes.” Steve leaned even closer, until Tony was honestly worried he would poke at the thing. “He must be more than three thousand years old,” Steve mused, “and it looks as if he’s still... decomposing.”

“Look at this,” Clint called, pointing at the inside of the lid where it hung open.

“My god,” Steve whispered. He lifted his hand, fitting his fingers over a set of four long gouges in the blackened interior. “These marks were made with _fingernails_. This man was _buried alive_.” Steve gave Clint and Tony a wide-eyed stare, then leaned, pulling Tony’s torch closer. “And he left a message.” He traced over the symbols drawn in what had to have been blood. “ _Death is only the beginning._ ”

***

Steve crept back into their camp, his prize clutched to his chest.

“That’s called stealing, you know.” Tony didn’t move from where he was stretched out beside the fire, one arm thrown over his eyes.

Steve set the book on a stone and rummaged in Clint’s bags. “According to you and my brother,” he said tartly, “it’s called _borrowing_.” He found the key buried at the bottom of the rucksack and pulled it out triumphantly.

Tony lifted his arm to peer across the fire as Steve opened the key, then rolled gracefully to his feet and came to watch over Steve’s shoulder. “I thought the Book of Amun-Ra was made out of gold,” he complained.

“It _is_ made out of gold,” Steve said absently, most of his focus on unlocking the key. “This isn’t the Book of Amun-Ra. This is something else. I think this may be the Book of the Dead.”

“The Book of the Dead?” Tony’s voice cracked a little on the divide between superstition and skepticism. “Are you sure you want to be playing around with this thing?”

“It’s just a book,” Steve said impatiently, fitting the key into the book’s cover. “No harm ever came from reading a book.” The lock sprang open with a neat _click_. Steve grinned and opened the cover, eager to be the first to read hieroglyphics that had been set down thousands of years ago.

A cold, musty wind swept through the camp, making the fire flicker and almost die.

Steve looked up in alarm, but the breeze blew itself out as quickly as it had come in, and the fire settled.

“That happens a lot around here,” Tony observed neutrally. “So, what’s it say?”

Steve ran his fingertips over the glyphs, feeling for the subtle variations in the pressed metal. “ _Amun Ra. Amun Dei,_ ” he read carefully. “It speaks of the night and of the day.”

His eyes were already running along the next lines, his busy mind translating the pictograms into syllables. The words pushed their way out of his throat almost without his conscious decision to say them aloud, as if they wanted, _needed_ to be spoken. They vibrated in the still desert air, buzzing with meaning, with... _power_.

“No!” cried a voice from the treasure-hunters’ camp: Ward, their only really knowledgeable member. “You must not read from the book!”

The buzzing grew louder, and louder still, until Steve realized it wasn’t his imagination and excitement after all, but a massive swarm of insects swirling up out of the desert and descending on them.

Locusts.

Steve froze in surprise, staring.

Tony had no such hesitation. He grabbed Steve’s wrist and pulled him away from the book. “Run!” he shouted, pushing Steve ahead of him toward the relative safety of the ruins. “ _Run!_ ”

***

They’d been separated during their flight from the scarabs. Steve had fallen through some kind of secret door, and before Tony could figure out how to open it again, the scarabs had come back, and now they were all running around this gods-damned (literally) maze of an ancient temple, desperate to avoid a gruesome death.

Tony glanced up as he ran past a doorway to see Steve, thank God, his back pressed against a wall. “There you are!” Tony said, admittedly a bit sharp in his relief. He changed direction. “Will you quit playing hide and seek? Come on, let’s get out of here.”

Steve didn’t look at him, even as he wrapped his free hand around Steve’s wrist. Tony turned to look-- “Whoa!” He jumped back, but the heavy wall got in his way.

It was the mummy, the mummy they had found, standing in the center of the room. Of its own accord. Glaring at them. With eyeballs it most certainly hadn’t had before. Oh my God what the _fuck--_

“Stevie!” Clint came running from the other direction, flanked by Rumlow and Rollins. He skidded to a stop when the mummy turned to snarl at them.

Having that _thing’s_ eyes off him, even for a moment, was a breath of relief. Gave Tony a couple of seconds to regroup. When it turned back and _roared_ at them, Tony roared right back, and then unloaded both barrels of his shotgun right at it. It fell.

“Move!” Tony yelled, pushing at Steve, and they ran, Clint and the treasure hunters coming up behind him.

Finally, a door that led back out into the desert! They ran toward it, bursting out into the night...

And pulled up short as a dozen rifles pointed directly at them. The desert riders.

Ward was already captured, clutching the book to his chest.

The riders’ leader pulled the scarf from his face to reveal the same gray-eyed man they had faced before. “I told you to leave or die,” he said. “You refused. Now you may have killed us all. You have unleashed the creature we have feared for more than three thousand years.”

“Relax,” Tony said, hefting his shotgun. “I got him.”

The gray-eyed man shook his head. “No mortal weapon can kill this creature. He’s not of this world.”

Two more black-clad riders came out of the temple, a slumped figure hanging between them. They lowered him to the ground, and Tony saw that it was one of the treasure hunters. Sitwell. His eye sockets were sunken and empty, and a trail of blood fell from his mouth.

“You bastards,” Rumlow snarled, “what did you do to him?”

“We _saved_ him,” the gray-eyed rider said. “Saved him before the creature could finish its work. Leave, all of you. Quickly, before he finishes you all.” He issued a command to the other riders in another language -- was that _Russian?_ \-- and they began moving into the temple. “We must now go on the hunt and try to find a way to kill him.”

“I already told you,” Tony said as the gray-eyed rider passed him, “I got him.”

The rider stopped and looked into Tony’s eyes, and there was that odd flash of recognition again. “Know this,” the man said. “This creature is the bringer of death. He will never eat, he will never sleep, and he will never stop.”

***

“I thought you said you didn’t believe in fairy tales and hokum stuff,” Tony said as he walked into Steve’s room carrying armfuls of Steve’s clothes. “Shoo!” he yelled at the hotel cat, lounging on top of the suitcase.

Steve snatched up the cat and clutched it protectively against his chest. The mummy had been terrifying, never moreso than when it had _talked_ to him, offered a hand as if it expected Steve to willingly take it. “Having an encounter with a three thousand year old walking, talking corpse,” Steve stammered, “does tend to convert one.”

Tony dumped Steve’s clothes into the suitcase and strode to the dresser to get another armful. “Forget it!” Tony said. “We’re out the door, down the hall, and we’re gone!”

Steve put the cat on the bed and scooped up the clothes, marching them right back into the closet. “On, no, we are not!”

“Oh, yes we are!” Tony shot back, dumping his armload.

“Oh, no we are not,” Steve repeated. “We woke him up, and we are going to stop him!” He scooped up the clothes and dumped them on the bed.

“We?” Tony said, slightly shrill. “What we? _We_ didn’t read that book! I told you not to play around with that thing. Didn’t I tell you?” He tossed a handful of Steve’s reference books into the suitcase.

“Yes, fine,” Steve snapped. “Me, me, me, I, I, I! I woke him up, and I intend to stop him!” He gathered up his books and took them back to the desk.

“Yeah? _How?_ ” Tony demanded. “You heard the man! No mortal weapons can kill this guy!”

“Then we’ll just have to find some _immortal_ ones,” Steve shot back.

“There goes that _we_ again.”

“Will you _listen to me?_ ” Steve begged. “We have to do something!” He slammed the lid of the suitcase shut, and ignored Tony’s yelp of pain when it closed on his fingers. “Once the creature has been reborn, his curse is going to spread until the whole of the Earth is destroyed!”

“Yeah?” Tony shook off his bruised fingers. “Is that my problem?”

“It’s _everybody’s_ problem!” Steve said.

Tony sighed, rubbed at his face. “Steven, I appreciate you saving my life and all, but when I signed on, I agreed to take you out there and to bring you back. I have done that. End of job. End of story.”

With the end of the world at stake, Steve probably shouldn’t have been wasting time on the way that stung, on a deeply personal level. “Is that all I am to you? A contract?” He’d really thought he and Tony had grown close, out there in the desert. That there had been a spark of something between them.

“Look,” Tony said, “you can either tag along with me, or you can stay here and try to save the world! What’s it going to be?”

“I’m staying,” Steve said fiercely.

“Fine,” Tony said, dropping back a step.

“Fine,” Steve agreed.

“Fine!” Tony repeated, striding toward the door.

“Fine!”

“Fine!” Tony slammed the door behind him.

Steve stared at it, arms crossed over his chest, and tried to ignore the sense of betrayal.

***

Tony didn’t know how Steve could have looked at that... that _thing_ and not want to just get as far away as possible.

But when his whiskey turned to blood in his mouth and the sky started raining fire, Tony began to understand: _there was no running_. There was no corner of the world that was safe.

And so he found himself once again following Steve, this time into the depths of the museum, Clint and the treasure hunters on his heels.

“There’s only one person that can give us any answers,” Steve said, pushing into the museum director’s office, but he pulled up short before actually crossing the threshold.

Director Fury was sitting at his desk, and bending over him as they consulted was -- the gray-eyed desert rider. “You!” Tony exclaimed, his pistol leaping into his hand.

Fury and the rider looked up. The director’s eye swept over their party, and he slumped, resigned. “Mr. Rogers.”

The gray-eyed rider nodded once. “Gentlemen.”

“What is he doing here?” Tony demanded.

Fury raised an eyebrow. “Do you really want to know, or would you prefer to just shoot us?”

Almost, _almost_ , Tony opted for just shooting them. But Steve glanced back at him, entreating, and he growled and lowered his gun. “After what I’ve seen, I’m willing to on on a little faith,” he allowed.

“This is James Barnes,” Fury said, nodding at the rider. “The Winter Soldier. We’re part of an ancient secret society.”

“We’re sworn to do any and all in our power to stop the High Priest Red Skull from being reborn,” Barnes intoned. “Because of you, we have failed to protect this world.”

“This isn’t protection; it’s fear! You think this justifies killing innocent people?” Steve demanded.

“To stop this creature?” Fury returned, incredulous. “Let me think... Yes!”

Beside him, Barnes nodded emphatically.

“When I saw him alive at Hamunaptra,” Steve said, uncharacteristically bashful, “he called me... Ar-nm-zola. And then just now, in Mr. Sitwell’s quarters, he tried to take my hand.”

Barnes and Fury exchanged a wide-eyed look. “It was because of his forbidden experiments with Ar-nm-zola that he was cursed,” Barnes said.

Fury rubbed at his face. “Apparently, even after three thousand years...”

“...He still intends to complete his work,” Barnes finished, looking pale.

“Yes, well, that’s very dedicated of him,” Steve said crossly, “but what’s that got to do with me? I’m just a kid from Brooklyn.”

“Perhaps he will once again try to raise Ar-nm-zola from the dead,” Barnes said grimly.

“And it appears,” added Fury, “that he has already chosen his human sacrifice.” All eyes turned to Steve.

Tony wanted to protest, rage building in his chest.

Clint winced. “Rough luck, bro.”

“On the contrary,” Fury said. “It may just give us the time we need to kill the creature.”

The light in the room dimmed suddenly, and Barnes stepped forward to look upward, out of the skylight. Tony couldn’t help following the line of his sight to see a shadow settling over the sun, an eclipse where none had been predicted.

“We will need all the help we can get,” Barnes observed. “His powers are growing.”

***

Ward’s quarters were already occupied when Tony and Clint got there -- but not by the Egyptologist. Justin Hammer was frantically ripping the man’s rooms apart, flinging open drawers and overturning books on the shelves.

“Well, well, well,” Tony said, leaning in the doorframe to block Hammer’s exit. “Let me guess: spring cleaning?”

Hammer leaped for the window. Tony scooped up a chair and flung it at him, knocking him to the floor.

“Nice shot,” Clint approved.

“Aw, Justin, did you fall down? Let me help you up.” Tony bunched his fists in Justin’s shirt and slammed the weasly little man roughly against the wall. “You came back from the desert with a new friend, didn’t you, Justin?”

Justin pasted on a smarmy grin. “What friend? You’re my only friend, Tones.”

Tony knocked Justin back against the wall a few times. “What the hell are you doing with this Red Skull creep, Justin? What’s in it for you?”

Justin spread his hands in a _what can you do?_ gesture. “Better to be the right hand of the devil than in his path, you know? As long as I’m useful, I’m immune.”

Tony snarled and threw Justin back against the opposite wall. “Immune from _what_.”

Justin muttered something that Tony didn’t quite catch. “What did you say?”

“Why would I tell you?” Justin wondered. “You’ll just hurt me some more. That’s not nice. That’s not right.”

Tony growled and lifted Justin off his feet, pushing his face up toward the whirling blades of the ceiling fan. “What are you looking for?” he demanded. “And I know it’s difficult, but _try_ not to lie. I’m about out of patience.”

Justin shook his head, but caved as soon as Tony shoved him further upward. “The book! The black book that they found at Hamunaptra! The Red Skull wants it back. He said it would be worth its weight in gold!”

Clint’s eyes narrowed. “What does he want it for?”

“I don’t know!” Justin was lying; Tony could practically smell it. He lifted Justin a little higher-- “Something about bringing his dead partner back to life, but that’s all! He just wanted the book, I swear! I swear, just the book!” He glanced at Clint. “And your brother. But other than that--”

_Steve_. Tony wound up one fist, ready to knock Justin’s teeth halfway across Cairo, but a bloodcurdling scream echoed out of the alley. He turned to look, and Justin took advantage of his distraction to knee him in the stomach.

The instant Tony’s grip loosened, Justin dove for the window, breaking through and falling out to land in a pile of garbage.

In the street below, the crowd parted to reveal the Red Skull standing over Grant Ward’s dessicated corpse. The creature pried a canopic jar out of the dead man’s hand, then turned to look straight up at them. Its mouth fell open, a gruesome black hole, and a swarm of black flies flew out, heading straight for them.

As one, Tony and Clint slammed the window’s shutters closed. A few seconds later, screaming in the streets suggested that the swarm had rebounded and gone in search of new targets. Tony looked at Clint, grim. “That’s two down, and two to go.”

“And then he’ll be coming for Stevie,” Clint said solemnly.

***

They were back at Hamunaptra. Again. Tony wanted to throw up.

He fought back the urge. They had to rescue Steve, first, before he could fall apart. They had to find the Book of Amun-Ra and destroy the Red Skull.

At least this time they had someone with them who seemed to actually know what he was doing and where he was going. He cast a glance at Barnes, toiling hard at moving the stones that blocked their path.

The man was grim -- they all were, given the circumstances -- but unflappable and strangely enthusiastic. Tony rather liked him, now that he was no longer threatening Tony’s life.

Finally, they managed to clear enough stones that they could scramble through the gap and into the passageway on the other side. They crept down it, listening for signs of life, for Red Skull or Steve or even Justin Hammer. There was nothing, only the occasional scuttling of insects.

The passageway ended in a doorway that led to-- Holy mother of _God_ \-- a treasure room that exceeded even Tony’s wildest dreams.

Clint’s eyes nearly fell out of his skull. “Wha... Can you see--”

“Yeah.” Tony gritted his teeth and pulled Clint along, following Barnes along the path through the chamber.

“Can you _believe--_ ”

“Yeah.”

Clint’s eyes fixed on a glittering heap of gems. “Can’t we just--”

“No.” Tony tightened his grip and pulled harder.

A trio of mummies bounded into the room, ancient weapons held at the ready.

“Who the hell are _these_ guys?” Tony demanded, absolutely not shrilly. At all.

“Priests,” Barnes said. “Red Skull’s priests.”

Tony snatched up a sword that was sticking out of a mound of treasure, a beautiful thing with an ivory and lapis grip and a gold-washed blade. He held it up and roared defiance at the menacing creatures.

The mummies roared back.

For some reason, Tony hadn’t been expecting that. “All right then,” he said, and in the moment of hesitation, turned and fled, Clint and Barnes close on his heels.

***

Steve struggled against the ropes tying him to the altar, but they were far too tight for even his skinny wrists to wriggle free.

There was a mummy laid next to him. This one wasn’t moving, thank God, but Steve feared that wouldn’t last much longer.

Even as he thought it, a line of linen-wrapped priests shuffled in. Steve fought harder against the ropes, but it was useless. The priests circled the altar, knelt, and began chanting.

“Ar-nm-zola,” said Red Skull, and spread his arms to intone an ancient prayer. From the pit on the far side of the room rose a dark, oily-looking ghost. Ar-nm-zola’s spirit, Steve guessed. It floated past the priests and settled over the mummy beside Steve, hovering for a moment before sinking into the body, like a drop of water being absorbed by cloth.

Ar-nm-zola’s mummy screamed.

Red Skull grinned down at Steve with that gruesome bloody smile, and raised a knife over his head. “Now,” he said, “we can continue our work.”

“I found it, Stevie!” yelled a voice from above them.

Red Skull turned to look, and Steve stretched his neck to see Clint, standing at the top of the stairs with a massive golden tome in his arms.

“I found it!” Clint crowed.

“Shut up and get me out of here, Clint!” Steve yelled. He twisted against the ropes. “Open the book! It’s the only way to kill him! You have to open the book and find the inscription!”

Red Skull snarled and turned toward the stairs.

“I can’t open it!” Clint called back, halfway to panic. “It’s locked or someth-- The key! We need the key, Stevie!”

“Red Skull’s got it,” Steve told his brother. “It’s in his robes!”

“Ah,” Clint said, looking up to see Red Skull stalking toward him. “Right.” He hesitated, and darted into the shadows.

“Steve!” called another voice, and then Tony was there.

“Stark!”

Tony swung a sword -- where did he get a _sword?_ \-- and cut the ropes binding Steve’s legs.

Red Skull snarled out another command, and the priests launched themselves off the floor at Tony.

Steve tried to get free, to help, but the ropes around his wrists were still too tight. Why hadn’t Tony cut his hands free first, damn it?

The mummies were immortal and annoyingly persistent, but they’d been priests, not warriors. There were a few close calls, but Tony seemed to be holding his own, at least. At long last, he managed to cut through the ropes on Steve’s arms.

Steve sat up, rubbing at his wrists and watching Ar-nm-zola warily, but the mummy seemed to still be in some sort of shock. It wasn’t doing anything but twitching, at any rate.

“Oh, here’s an inscription,” Clint called, sounding half out of breath. What was he doing up there? _Rasheem..._ Uh. _Rasheem oola kashka!_ ”

The sound of stomping feet made Steve’s heart grow cold in his chest. A new cadre of mummies arrived, wearing armor and carrying weapons. _These_ were warriors.

“Son of a bitch,” Tony sighed. “This just keeps getting better and better.”

There were fewer of them, but they remembered how to fight, and it showed. Steve stood on the altar and jabbed at them when they came near enough with a long candlestick, but he didn’t know what he could do to help. Tony was the only one of them with a weapon.

And Tony was rapidly losing the upper hand.

“Do something, Clint!” Steve yelled desperately.

“Me?” Clint’s voice echoed from a completely different corner of the vast room now.

“You can _command_ them!”

“What?”

“Finish the inscription, idiot,” Steve said through gritted teeth. “ _Then_ you can control them!”

“Oh! Right!”

Steve was so busy trying to watch Tony fighting the guards that he didn’t notice when Ar-nm-zola recovered. And then he was too busy fighting Ar-nm-zola to worry about Tony.

***

Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. Tony had been fending for himself since he was seven years old. He was a dab hand with nearly any weapon he picked up -- something of a genius for it, really -- and even empty-handed, he was a hell of a scrapper. But these fucking mummy guards would _not stay down_. Was he finally done for?

He ducked and whirled, catching a glimpse of Steve struggling with Ar-nm-zola. That added a little zing of adrenaline that helped, for a bit.

It was the last thing Barnes had said, before charging that first group of priests, sacrificing himself so that Tony and Clint would have time to find the book. “Save the boy. Kill the creature.”

Tony couldn’t fail. Couldn’t let Barnes’ sacrifice be in vain. Or Fury’s. Even the treasure hunters, their deaths ought to mean _something_ , in the end.

But Tony was seriously outclassed, here. It was the kind of fight where, as soon as he made the tiniest mistake, he was going to be overwhelmed. And he was mortal, capable of tiring. They weren’t. Tony was beginning to think he was about to meet his maker and endure a rather lengthy accounting of his faults.

Clint was yelling at Steve again, something about a... stork? What the fuck, Clint? Could the man not focus, for one God damned _second_?

In his annoyance and distraction, Tony tripped and fell.

And that was it, he knew as he fell. He’d never have time to roll to his feet, much less recover a defensive stance. He was dead, he was--

The guards stopped, frozen, with their weapons already biting into his skin.

Tony opened one eye cautiously.

The guards withdrew their weapons and stood to attention. What... what just happened?

Clint’s voice echoed in the wide room. “ _Fa-kooshka Ar-nm-zola!_ ”

As one, the guards turned and advanced, converging on where Ar-nm-zola had Steve backed into a corner. Ar-nm-zola looked up in confusion, and then in fear, and then--

\--then it didn’t matter anymore, because he was being slain by the guards.

A shriek of pure rage emerged from Red Skull and he rushed toward them to stop them, to rescue Ar-nm-zola, but too late.

“Stevie!” Clint shouted. He was holding up a small silver box. “I got it!”

Steve looked at Clint, and then at Red Skull, and then, determinedly, at Tony. “Keep him busy,” Steve said firmly.

Tony climbed to his feet and picked up his sword. He hurt everywhere from being thrown around by mummies, from falling onto stone floors, from blows and scratches and cuts. He honestly wasn’t sure he could face even another weak priest, much less Red Skull at the height of power. But it was what Steve had asked him to do, so he would do it, or die trying. “No problem.”

Steve raced up the stairs to where Clint was waiting with the key and the book. Tony grimly set himself in Red Skull’s path and readied his sword.

This... was going to hurt.

***

Tony was getting absolutely _battered_. It was all Steve could do to focus on the inscriptions in the book as he tried to find the right one, the one that would take Red Skull’s soul back to the underworld. Every time Tony shouted, or grunted with an impact, or hissed in pain, Steve’s eyes were drawn to the battle.

Clint bobbled the book in his grip, his own eyes on Tony and Red Skull. “Hurry, Stevie!”

“You’re not helping,” Steve said tightly, turning a page and running his finger down the symbols.

From the center of the room came a particularly loud thump. Tony’s groan mingled with Red Skull’s triumphant laugh, and Steve’s blood ran cold. Was he-- _No time, there was no more time!_ Frantically, he skimmed the page--

“Oh! I’ve got it!” Steve looked up. Red Skull was striding toward them, hand already outstretched, fingers curled into claws. “ _Kadeesh mal, kadeesh mal. Pared oos, pared oos!_ ”

Red Skull’s eyes widened and his head shook in mute denial. But before he could take another step, an icy wind swept through the room, preceding a ghostly chariot driven by a rider Steve couldn’t look at directly. The chariot rode straight through Red Skull, driving him back a few steps with shock. As it came out the other side and continued on its way, Steve could see that it was now dragging with it a spectral Red Skull, reaching desperately for the body still standing there, clutching at his chest.

And then the chariot was gone, taking its eerie wind with it. Red Skull turned toward Steve with a snarl.

Tony lurched to his feet, sword clenched in his hand, and Steve nearly cheered at seeing him still alive. “I thought you said it was going to kill him!” Tony complained, charging to intercept Red Skull’s path.

Red Skull swung, and Tony stabbed forward -- and the sword sank deep into Red Skull’s body. Red Skull looked down at it, and then back up at Tony, who was backing away, empty-handed.

“He’s mortal,” Steve breathed.

Red Skull staggered a few steps, looking around in something like bewilderment. He half-fell into the pit of souls, which reached up for him and pulled him down into its murky depths. He didn’t resist. To the last, he looked confused and lost, as if he couldn’t possibly fathom a scenario in which he didn’t win.

“Death is only the beginning,” Steve recalled as the soul slime closed over Red Skull’s head.

***

They had all of about thirty seconds to bask in the glow of having saved the world before the temple began to shudder and crumble around them.

“Time to go!” Tony barked, beckoning.

A huge statue crashed to the ground, and then Steve and Clint were running, following Tony back through the halls.

“The book!” Steve yelled behind him. Tony skidded to a halt and reversed direction. “You dropped the book! How could you--” Tony grabbed his wrist and pulled.

“Come on! No time!”

Back. Back past the statue of Horus, which damn near fell on them and squashed them. Back through the treasure room.

“Couldn’t we just--”

“No!” Steve’s voice joined Tony’s for that, and they each grabbed one of Clint’s arms to pull him along.

The walls were dropping over the exits. “Go, go, go!” Tony yelled. He pushed Steve through, and then Clint. By the time he followed, the wall was low enough that he had to crawl.

“Stark!”

Tony looked back. Justin fucking Hammer. How the hell had he made it through all this alive? Tony stretched out his arm. “Come on!” he urged. He couldn’t leave even a slimy pissant like Justin in this place. “Come on, hurry up!”

Justin reached-- but it was too late. The wall came down, and Tony barely snatched his arm back before it was crushed. It was so thick that it even cut off Justin’s cries for help. Tony took a breath. He’d tried. “Goodbye, Justin.”

And then they ran. Out of the temple and into the desert. They kept running, following the fleeing animals, until they’d gone far beyond the outskirts. Then, panting, they turned to watch the last throes of the once-great city as it collapsed in upon itself in a cloud of dust and sand.

A hand fell on Tony’s shoulder and he let out a shout of surprise that was not at all a childish shriek. He flailed back, reaching for a weapon, any weapon, and turned--

\--to find Barnes perched on a camel, looking down at him in amusement.

“Don’t _do_ that, Barnes,” Tony panted.

Barnes grinned. “Call me Bucky,” he said. “You’ve earned my respect and gratitude. And, it seems, put me out of a job.”

“You could come with us, back to Cairo,” Steve offered.

Barnes -- Bucky -- smiled at that. “Have no doubt,” he promised, “you will see me again, and soon. In the meantime, stay out of trouble.” He saluted them, and turned the camel into the desert.

“That’s it?” Clint said. “He’s just... leaving us here. Empty handed.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say entirely empty-handed,” Tony said, reaching for Steve’s hand. He tugged, and Steve came easily, smiling brightly as Tony lowered his head for a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't explicitly work it into the text, but in my mind, this is trending heavily toward a Steve/Tony/Bucky threesome. Because Ardeth Bay.


	25. Not Lost Only Visiting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Square Filled: K5 - [image: iron man facepalm]  
> Rating: G  
> Warnings: None  
> Summary: Tony finds an unexpected cat in his workshop, which leads to other unexpected discoveries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on [this tumblr post](http://frostkings.tumblr.com/post/178917816566) that's been making the rounds lately.

When Tony walked into his workshop after the battle to fix his malfunctioning gauntlet, DUM-E and U were both in the far corner of the lab, folded up to look under one of the worktables.

Tony clapped his armored hands together. “Playtime’s over, fellas, let’s get back to work.”

DUM-E ignored him. U’s arm twisted to look in Tony’s direction, then pointedly went back to peering under the table.

“What the...” Tony dropped the glitching gauntlet on the soldering table and strode across the room. “What’s got you two so wound up? Did DUM-E lose his favorite fire extinguisher again?” He braced one hand on top of the table and bent over to try to see what they were looking at.

A pair of glowing green eyes looked back at him.

Tony pulled back, startled. “What...” Cautiously, he looked again.

The eyes were still there, unblinking and round. Tony shoved at DUM-E’s chassis. “Get out of the way, you’re blocking the light.” DUM-E obediently, if reluctantly, rolled back a couple of feet, just far enough for a sliver of light to make its way under the table. Just enough for Tony to make out the slightly blurry outline of...

A cat?

“What the _fuck_.” Tony looked at the bots, and then back under the table. Still a cat. It appeared to be full-grown, with somewhat disheveled gray-striped fur and gold eyes that glowed green in the dim light. One of its ears was notched, but that appeared to be an old injury, not something fresh. It eyed Tony and the bots warily, but it didn’t seem particularly frightened.

“Friday, how did a cat get into my lab?”

Friday hesitated. “My records show no such entry, boss. My best guess is that it snuck in with the materials delivery this morning.”

Tony pinched at the bridge of his nose, or tried, but was foiled by the fact that he was still in his armor, less the one gauntlet. He retracted the helmet and tried again. “Okay. Do a quick scan of the building, would you, and see if anyone’s missing their cat?”

“You got it, boss.”

While she did that, Tony finished shedding his armor, then found half a chicken sandwich in the workshop’s mini-fridge. He scraped off the mustard and sat down in front of the table to coax the cat out.

“No one is reporting a missing animal in the building, boss. I’ll keep my eyes open for anything and let you know.”

“Yep, you do that.” Tony watched as the cat crept closer, cautious but obviously hungry. When it came a little nearer, he saw the collar around its neck, and the flash of a metal tag.

So it wasn’t feral, at least, and its shots were probably up to date. Tony waited and watched, and eventually it came out to snap up the little pile of meat.

Tony scooped it up before it could retreat back under the desk. It -- he, actually, Tony noted -- yowled plaintively, but didn’t try to scratch or bite. Definitely tame. Tony carefully twisted the tag on the collar around to read the etched lines: GARY 917-555-2825.

Tony scooted back to lean against the wall and fished his phone out of his pocket. He typed out a message distractedly, watching as Gary attacked a stray screw.

Tony: _Hello! I got this number from your cat Gary. I just want to make sure he is not lost only visiting. He is currently playing in my workshop._

Gary knocked the screw under a cabinet where he couldn’t reach it. After a moment, he gave up and came back over to Tony, stropping himself against Tony’s side. Tony petted him. The fur was soft, though slightly oily -- which was what he got for slinking around under Tony’s worktables, really.

A moment later, his phone buzzed with a reply. _Where did you get this number_

Tony: _I just told you, from your cat._

917-555-2825: _Dont have a cat. And cats cant talk._

Tony: _The cat didn’t talk, the number is on his tag._

917-555-2825: _Still dont have a cat._

Tony rolled his eyes. “C’mere, fluffball,” he said. He twisted Gary’s collar around until the tag was visible and took a picture of the cat’s face and shoulders. He checked to make sure the number was visible and that nothing identifiable about his workshop was in the shot, and sent it.

917-555-2825: _Cute. Still not mine. I would never name a cat Gary._

Tony: _I’m kind of relieved. Who does that???_

917-555-2825: _That cat looks more like a Gandalf._

Tony laughed aloud, startling Gary.

Tony: _You, I like. Excellent name choice, there._

He found himself almost forgetting about the cat as he traded quips with Gary’s not-owner. The guy -- Tony was making an assumption, there, but he _talked_ like a guy -- the guy was both clever and intelligent, seemed to like both fantasy and science fiction, and was surprisingly willing to waste his time trading banter via text. Better still, he wasn’t noticeably freaked out by Tony’s habitual flirtation, and even returned it, a little.

Tony: _So maybe I’m way out of line, here, but would you be interested in coffee?_

917-555-2825: _I think Id like that. Where?_

***

Tony settled into a corner table that let him watch -- and be seen from -- the door of the coffee shop. He wore a dark red shirt, which was what they’d both agreed to wear, for identification purposes. He also had on a baseball cap and glasses in the hope that not too many people would recognize him.

The door opened, and there was no mistaking the man who walked through: Bucky Barnes, the Winter Soldier. He was wearing that red henley of his that strained to stretch across his chest, and a light jacket over that. He was also wearing a baseball cap, but Tony would recognize those shoulders anywhere, not to mention the silvery metal of his hand.

They’d long since buried the hatchet, but Tony couldn’t help but wonder why he was _here_ , and why _now_. Was he following Tony for some reason? Tracking down a lead? Or a suspect?

Oh, god, what if he was here to track down the very guy Tony was here to meet?

_Cool your jets_ , Tony told himself. It was entirely possible that it was just a coincidence. After all, this _was_ the best coffee shop within a six-block radius of the Tower. The other Avengers came in here all the time. That had to be it. He had just got a hankering for one of those sugar-laden caramel-whip-froth monstrosities, and come--

“You’re wearing a red shirt.”

Tony looked up to find that Bucky had retrieved his coffee and was standing next to Tony’s table. “Uh, yes?”

Bucky twisted, looking around the shop slowly, eyeing all the other customers before looking back at Tony. “You’re the only one in a red shirt.”

Tony had already done his own reconnaissance, so he just nodded. “Except for you,” he agreed. “You’re also in... a red...”

He looked at Bucky’s shirt again, as if it might have changed color in the last few seconds, and then back up at Bucky, whose eyes were suddenly as wide as Tony’s felt. “ _You?_ But. But I _know_ your phone number! I _gave you your phone!_ ”

Bucky took an ugly, cheap phone from his pocket and put it on the table. “Burner phone,” he said, shuffling his feet sheepishly. “For emergencies. Damn near had a heart attack when it went off.” He glanced around the shop again, and his shoulders sagged, just a little. “Sorry. Guess I’ll just... go back now.”

Tony pushed out the chair across from him with his foot. “Might as well sit and have your coffee,” he offered.

Bucky hesitated, then took the seat. “Sorry,” he said again. “You thought you were meeting up with someone interesting and different.”

“So did you,” Tony pointed out.

Bucky shrugged, fiddling with the seam of his coffee cup. “Yeah, well. Dating is hard when you’re...” He gestured at himself.

“What? Smoking hot?”

“That’s not quite what I meant,” Bucky said, but the corner of his mouth curved up, just a little, and he glanced at Tony. “Look, Tony, I don’t want to waste your time--”

“You’re not.” Tony sipped his own coffee. “A guy who’d name his cat Gary and not proofread his contact information on his pet's tag, now that’s a waste of my time.”

“Yeah?” Another look from under those sinfully long eyelashes, and Bucky’s tongue darted out to lick the foam off his lip. “I mean... Yeah. Okay. Sure. Why not?” He lifted his cup in a silent toast to Tony and sipped. “What about Gary, anyway? Are you going to keep him?”

“If I can’t locate his actual owner,” Tony said, “I just might.” Who knows, maybe he’d keep Bucky, too.

**Author's Note:**

> Come and follow me on tumblr at [27dragons](https://27dragons.tumblr.com)!


End file.
